


On my knees

by xsupremwx



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29028042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsupremwx/pseuds/xsupremwx
Summary: Agnes is a student of visual arts.  When she meets Roberta, her life is filled with photographs, gifts and art.
Relationships: Jessica Lange/ Original Female Characters
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

It is a sunny and hot early afternoon, Agnes walks almost tripping on her own hungry stomach to the restaurant in front of the university. The place looks suspiciously empty as she follows the security tape to the cashier, the bored woman on the other side looks at the small LED TV and Agnes looks at the stuffed menu. Her stomach is rumbling and her pockets are empty, something inside her exclaims that a few more minutes of empty stomach and she could have a pressure drop with dark vision and wobbly legs. Rebuking her stomach, the student orders a simple sandwich while pulling out her last ten-dollar bill for that week, the purse money had flown in with the rent and medicine she had to buy earlier in the week.

Waiting for her sandwich to be made, the girl took the device almost unloaded from the front pocket and tried to view the research group's messages, hoping internally that tomorrow's meeting would be postponed. She had a test, and very little time to reconcile her studies with her research group. She needed to catch up on sleep, it had been days since she managed to close her eyes completely, for an entire night. She also needed to change that worn mattress, and purchase a chair that would not leave her with back pain for long days. It was painful to realize that half of her problems would be solved with a little more money.

"Twelve dollars." The attendant reported almost upset, Agnes froze in place like a tired marble statue, staring at her only ten-dollar bill stretched out on the counter. Her dark hair started to tingle over her head and her stomach started to complain again, she was mentally rehearsing a cancellation request, hot eyes burned her back and her head throbbed only with the shame in which she would have to endure. Before the young woman could say anything, a twenty-dollar bill was placed on the counter, a delicate hand with apparent veins over beautiful fingers.

"That should cover." The voice that resonated behind her tickled the back of her neck, like an icy wind blowing her warm skin. Agnes turned to protest at the generosity of a stranger, but the words died in her throat and a hoarse moan almost left her lips.

The stranger was just the most elegantly sensual creature he had ever laid eyes on, perhaps in his entire life. She was a much older woman, her blond hair was almost white. Her sculptural face had those little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, as well as the twitching of her lips, and Agnes almost asked the deities if that was some kind of test. Her black dress appeared to be a tailor's dress with a square cut, short sleeves and a wide neckline, the silk of the thin coat over her shoulders shone against the sun's rays until her exposed knees and her shoes had velvet heels. Even the gemstone earrings made Agnes' legs tremble, there was that little thing about middle-aged women, and there was that little thing about wealthy women. This stranger is the perfect combination of both.

"I ..." The student suddenly realized that she was giving an indiscreet look at the woman, but in her current state of tiredness and hunger, it is not as if she could control any impulse in her body. "You do not need." She stated uncertainly. Her stomach screamed a thank you, her head felt disconcerted.

"It's nothing, dear." The stranger announced, a soft smile sliding against the pigment in the crimson lipstick. "Can you tell me what is good here?" She asked, taking a step forward and scrutinizing the set menu with curious eyes, her dress stretched out against her breasts and the student tried not to delay her eyes there, failing miserably. When she turned her eyes to the handsome face, the amber eyes were on her, a pair of raised eyebrows and a subtle smile.

"The natural turkey sandwich is my favorite, the juices are all very good." She sincerely confessed, visited that place since she was a freshman, knew almost all the dishes on the menu. The stranger mumbled a very soft hmm, all her movements seemed calculated to sound like something unnoticed, like a cold fabric hovering over her lips all the time, always sweet.

"Two large salads with chicken, two of these sandwiches that this young woman said she liked, and a jar of this unsweetened orange juice, please." The cashier woman seemed alert as she computed on the electronic machine with skilled fingers. "Ah, add one of those slices of sweet pie." She commented, staring at the candy display. She opened the small dark leather bag and pulled out the black wallet, her fingers quickly took the shiny card and offered the same to the woman in front of her. Agnes knew very little about rich cards, but she was aware that silver cards were a clear sign of power.

"Your change." The cashier reported, after a minute. Agnes tried to return the money to the woman standing beside her, but the lady quickly mumbled something like a stay, quite firmly. And the student didn't want to test her patience or kindness, everything about that woman seemed to announce power and she didn't want to offend some kind of coordinator or head of research, who would deny her scholarship when she found her again. When her request was ready, the girl pulled the tray close to her and tried to take a step towards the empty tables, but her arm was touched gently and her body shook.

"I believe I ordered enough food for two, would you mind having lunch with me?" And quickly a wave of embarrassment passed over the student, her fingers gripped the base of the tray tightly and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She knew this type of person, those who mistake kindness for charity very quickly, who use their money to do good deeds while under judging those helped. Anger dripped into his veins like boiling lava, it was right before her eyes and a silly attraction clouded the glass.

"I don't need your charity." She announced, a little louder than she would have liked, leaving a tray of sandwich and change on the counter as she headed for the exit with fervent steps. She fumbled at the glass door, shivering against the hot asphalt and feeling her stomach murmur a sequence of offenses. After she almost tripped over the empty restaurant parking lot, she knelt down to tie the worn sneakers properly and when she stood up she felt a shadow over her. She tried to keep walking, but the elegant woman stopped in front of her with bright eyes.

"Forgive me, I had no intention of offending you and I also do not believe that you need my charity." She explained, rubbing her hands in a clear gesture of nervousness, Agnes raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You look exhausted and I've already been in your place, graduation can be quite tiring, I wanted to be kind." The student pretended not to feel her chest tighten.

"It was a difficult week, I shouldn't have done that scene." She confessed, rubbing her temples that looked more painful than ever.

"A little good food can solve your problems momentarily." She offered, in a drawn-out tone. Agnes' hair flew against the sudden wind, a curtain of curls against her tired face, the two of them maintained a solid expression on their faces as they walked back to the restaurant.

Agnes was sitting at a wide table by the window, a plate of salad almost finished and a glass of juice half-scattered in front of her. His stomach already seemed calm and his head seemed to have become very silent very quickly, it lacked food and it was delicious. It took only a few minutes to discover that the blonde in front of her was called Roberta, was the director of the photographic research department and had been licensed in the house for some years, also discovered that she had been in a meeting with the dean for the whole morning and for it was there.

"You didn't tell me what you're doing." She scored, taking the rest of the juice out of the long glass.

"Visual arts." She replied, running a nervous hand over the tight white fabric pants around her left thigh. People's reaction was never positive when she commented on her choice, everything was always accompanied by a crooked look and tight lips. Agnes was expecting the expression of disgust on the woman, but to her surprise Roberta almost smiled, she seemed satisfied.

"It is a beautiful course, although devalued." She explained, pushing the plate away from her and folding her hands on the table. "But, all artists are devalued here."

"Hearing this is almost comforting, the reactions are generally much worse." A strangled laugh almost left her throat, but she gave an almost nervous cough.

"Photography is not a very different market, dear." The ring in her right hand flashed when she poured more juice into her own glass, and filled Agnes's glass too. "My congratulations on having been brave enough to follow your wishes, it is not a task for many."

"I hope I can win in my area, just like you won in yours." Roberta studied her face with curious eyes, a serene countenance as she raised the glass to her thin lips and took a minute in the process.

"I'm sure you will." She said, and Agnes lost herself for a moment as she faced the bright smile and the excited eyes.

After the friendly meal, the women spent long minutes commenting on their areas, Roberta had an exorbitant amount of interesting stories about rehearsals and photos she had already taken. The woman insisted that Agnes eat the cake alone, that sugar would help to improve her day, and the student reluctantly accepted. Smiling as she watched the older woman steal a few spoonfuls of the sweet topping. The young woman told him about the exhausting week, the bloody oral exam she had to take and how it had eaten all her neurons. Agnes only noticed how saturated she was with all that impossible week when she heard the words come out of her mouth, painfully true, Roberta was still elegantly erect in front of her, eyes floating and an understanding nod.

At the exit of the restaurant Agnes very gently rejected the ride offered by the woman. Murmuring a happy thanks while explaining that she lived only a few blocks from campus and could walk, the photography teacher sent her two more insistences before accepting her decision.

"Listen, there will be a little vernissage on Sunday." Roberta started, her blond hair covering her shiny face as she pulled out a hardcover pad, a black pen and quickly started to scratch the white surface. "It is an old project, a small event for friends and close students, I would very much like you to go." She completed, tearing the sheet and handing it inside Agnes's hand, her thumb scraped on the epidermis and a breath slid over her. "Here is the address, next to my personal number."

"Roberta, I ..." The girl tried, her body shaking and her eyes apprehensive. In front of her the blonde looked restless, questioning eyes and lips pressed in a compressed line. All the excuses she could use were gone from her head, the college student couldn't think of anything. "Thank you for lunch, I will do anything to honor your event." She added, seeing a smile appear on the lips of others.

•••

The vernissage was scheduled for eight at night, but Agnes spent two hours trying to find a suitable outfit for the situation, she certainly was not used to that type of event, the one where people use more than five hundred reais of fabrics over their bodies. She ended up opting for the moss-green pants she wore at the university conference last year, a white button-down shirt and a mustard dress shoe that already looked worn. She was unable to choose between backpack and purse, she ended up wearing a raw cotton strap attached to her wrist. It was almost nine o'clock at night when the bus driver said it was that spot, Agnes walked through the gardens of modern estates, it was a street of social venues. Bars with wooden benches and craft drinks, clothing boutiques and glass-walled restaurants. When the student stopped on the freshly cut lawn with a path of ornamental stones, her chest throbbed in painful long beats, her hands shook and she had to check the number of marble nailed to the wooden wall twice. As soon as she checked the parked cars and the neighborhood, Agnes thought about sending a message to Roberta apologizing and heading home on her dangerous buses. That neighborhood was located in the noble part of the city, with even more noble residences, it felt very quickly like a little detached piece of the puzzle. After a few minutes of staring at the entrance, her steps were automatic, walking among the stones and dodging her worn-out shoe. The entrance to the house was all in oak, a young woman was standing at the door holding a clipboard firm against her breasts.

"Good night, your name?" Fear corroded the bones of the dark-haired girl, Roberta could have forgotten, she was a busy woman and lunch with a stranger could easily escape her obligations. The woman was still smiling after a few seconds, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Agnes." She confessed, fear present in her voice. The woman scratched something on the elegant clipboard, her black hair pinned at the top and straight strands falling against her pointed face. The student almost shrank with the beauty present everywhere, everything seemed to harmonize and she felt a tone that was out of step.

"Here you go, enjoy the event." She exclaimed, amused. She handed him a hardcover book and an animated smile, the corridor was lit up in warm yellow when Agnes walked over him. The room was huge, large photo frames hung over black railings, the wooden walls were lined with pictures in a row, and all the pictures were in black and white. The smell of lavender dominated the room, along with the few people who walked with glasses of champagne and intriguing expressions. A waiter offered him a tray of drinks, but Agnes politely refused, she was too weak for drinks and didn't trust herself to be altered around a beautiful woman. The first row of photographs were of landscapes, closed forests with heavy gray and white leaves, rivers that looked like oil and cars running between underground tunnels. Agnes tried to rebuke the desire to put all the pictures together on one screen, cut out a few pieces and assemble a new landscape, all in one, a large photograph with all possible landscapes. She had already done that collage style, it was her favorite, and the photographs seemed to ask to be put together on a large canvas. The girl was still visualizing how she could fit all those pictures on a single large screen, when her ears caught some muxoxos coming from the other side. When she turned between the shelves, to try to understand, her eyes were momentarily blinded by the beauty of the scene, it was something so beautiful and natural, Agnes wanted to photograph. Roberta was being hugged by two students, she was visible by the motherly way that her hands were hooked on the hair of the red-haired boy and the girl with long colored braids. Her smile seemed to burn the world, blond hair everywhere and a small group in front of her smiling and talking nearby. Everyone looked incredibly used to it, their own style, different clothes and earrings shining around the room. Feeling like a busybody, Agnes moved on to the new group of photographs, they were children now.

It was already close to ten when Agnes finished appreciating all the works, looking discreetly at the prices fixed on the wooden frames. A few more minutes and she would probably miss the last bus, her heart seemed smaller when she thought about leaving the exhibition without saying a word to Roberta, she had only gone to talk to her, but the woman was always so busy. Always surrounded by people, always involved in a smiling conversation, always selling pictures to very rich buyers, Agnes did not feel that her presence could be useful there. She decided to take just one more look at that photo that won her heart and go back to the bus stop, the streets can be dangerous that time and her neighborhood was not the safest in the city. She walked back to the series of photographs she had liked the most, they were all about women. But it was the last photo in the collection that had won him over, it was a very intriguing photo, an apparently naked woman wrapped in the shadows was kneeling on the floor, she was just enigmatic, her eyes open with long lashes, her lips hidden and the empty house behind itself. Everything looked in perfect condition, except for the woman at the bottom of the screen, bright eyes and knees on the waxed floor.

"It's beautiful, don't you think?" A male voice intoned beside her, it took Agnes a long time to face the sentence owner. He was a man in his late thirties, with a shaved beard and a straight suit.

"Very." She answered. "Very mysterious too."

"I'm planning to bid on her tonight, should I worry about her offer?" The man joked, white teeth and thick rings on his fingers. Agnes faced the value of thirty-five thousand reais nailed to the frame of pure wood, earning less than that for a year, she would not be able to buy the photograph even if she sold her own kidney.

"I don't have enough to bid, she's all yours." She whispered, a sad smile hanging on her lips. The man didn't seem to understand, laughing as if she were a joke and coming back to face the screen.

"Is it really your favorite?" She questioned a hoarse voice behind her, the back of her neck burning as if she were close to the intense fire. She did not have to think for a long time to conclude whose voice it was, a small shrug was enough to be able to aim at the golden-haired woman. Roberta grinned at herself, beautiful in the warm light, shoulders covered in a tight black dress with long sleeves and an emerald earring shining over the room.

"It's a beautiful exhibition, Roberta. Congratulations, your photos are breathtaking." She announced, nervousness hitting her aching spine.

"I thought you wouldn't come." She commented, gently touching the student's arm, a hand gently stroking her back and bringing the bodies together just for a second. "I'm glad you liked it, but I believe you haven't answered my question." She stirred, a mocking smile on her wet lips.

"I'm not good with favorite things, but this is the one that most caught my attention today." She explained, crossing her arms gently under her small breasts and looking back at the screen.

"It's yours." Roberta announced, very gently, taking a small step forward and pulling that pale sticker from the wooden frame.

"Roberta, I really can't bid for the piece, but I appreciate it." The young woman explained, running a nervous hand over her wavy head in a clear sign of nervousness.

"I'm not asking you to pay for it, I'm saying it's yours, a gift." She announced, removing the piece from the wall. A small agglomeration formed around the event, few pieces had received bids good enough to be sold. The man in the tight suit stepped over to walk over to where Roberta was, frowning.

"Listen, I haven't made my bid yet. I offer forty thousand." He exclaimed, the guests looked excited.

"It will not be possible sir, she has already been sold to this beautiful young woman beside me." Roberta replied, with a knowing smile.

"Roberta, I really appreciate her intention but I can't accept a gift like that." Agnes looked terrified, eyes wide and hands shaking, the complete opposite of the photographer who had an almost amused countenance on her face.

"My dear, I do not accept returns." Punctual, simple and accurate. Her hands were removing the sticky tapes from behind the picture, pulling slowly with her fingers while she seemed oblivious to the girl's disgruntled state beside her. Agnes had nervous lips and trembling hands, blinking stunnedly at the people around the scene. "Come on, let's pack the picture." Roberta asked, walking to the left corner of the room, a small corridor with fogged glass doors.

Her eyes seemed to burn on the student's body as she walked, one foot in front of the other, sweaty hands and dangerously fast chest. The man in the tight suit was staring at the same place, that now empty space where the framed photograph once stood. Once inside the room, Agnes felt her body relax a little, the room was warm and there were a few chairs by a table with numerous boxes and papers packed.

"Listen, Roberta, I really appreciate your intention but I cannot accept this picture." She confessed, legs now firm as she sat in one of the chairs, fearing she would fall if she didn't try to regain her strength.

"You already said that and I was very clear, I do not accept returns." The tight dress fit her like a glove, sliding over her curves as if it were made for her, sewn on her body and glued between her legs. "It is a special work, an artist will take care of it better than anyone." She commented, gently placing the photograph in a thin paper bag, wrapping it in bubble wrap and finally fitting the piece into the large hard cardboard box.

"At least I can take this on the Roberta bus, that man was willing to pay a lot of money for him." At this point, Agnes no longer knew if she was trying to convince the director, or herself. But Roberta looked quite amused, long lashes scraping her cheek, amber eyes dangerously seductive.

"It's not a problem, let's go in my car." People can be kind, Agnes was aware of that, but people being kind enough to present him with paintings of almost forty thousand reais, it was too much. Her confusion must have stamped on her face, Roberta noticed and sighed for a long time, leaning against the table and touching the university student's dark hair. "Darling, it is a special work. I trust your artistic vision and in just a few minutes of conversation you have shown to have more content than many of these buyers. I do not want my work to be sexualized, much less that it serves as material for men like those." The young woman's thoughts began to clear. "I'm sure you'll appreciate it more appropriately, keep the picture." For just a minute, her complexion wrinkled and again that warm wave of air circulated over her neck, hot lava dripping from her scalp. I could not deny this woman, this beautiful woman with such expressive eyes and such a seductive tone of voice.

"I don't know how to thank you." She confessed, her voice lost in the great room.

"Stay with me and tell me what you think of the exhibition, I'm curious to hear your notes." The woman offered him a gentle hand that Agnes readily accepted, her hand coming down to that small slanted part just above her hip, guiding her out of the room. The young woman's whole body tingled, energy points everywhere.

"I'm not a critic, you know?" She joked, smiling.

"It's better than that, you're an artist." The photographer's earrings wobbled when she laughed, white teeth and a faint smell of cigarette stuck to her epidermis. The small mark on her arm captured her attention, her skin tight, her hands with visible traces of time and a gentle smile.

•••

Roberta made sure to listen to all of Agnes' opinions about the works, listening to all the ideas she obtained while looking at each of the photographs. She heard about that wonderful idea of putting all the landscapes in one, the girl was almost shaking when she said that, she didn't want to pass on something like discontent, just an idea. The photographer received this and all the other suggestions in an animated way, asking how they could do it, what materials they would use, Agnes questioned if she was, in fact, considering that crazy thing in her head. When she asked about it, Roberta smiled and whispered a simple clear that I am. The gallery closed after midnight, more than half of the pieces were sold, but Roberta did not admit any offer for the landscape works, saying that she had a personal project with those. The young woman felt her hands burn every time a man or woman made an even higher bid for the pieces and the photographer just declined with a subtle countenance. After everyone was gone, with some lengths and praise, the blonde collected her belongings and asked Agnes to help her get the parts into the car. All the photographs, without frames, were delicately seated on the rear seat of the Audi black as night, his photograph was on his lap the entire way.

"Are you free sometime this week?" She probed, turning the street empty.

"Tuesday and Thursday in the afternoon, I do research for the rest of the week." The girl replied, trying not to shamelessly show her excitement by looking at the beautiful hands on the leather steering wheel. Roberta lit a white cigarette, holding the car with only one hand and blowing smoke out the window. The smell of nicotine graced the car, the whitish smoke made the golden even more sensual. Very suddenly, Agnes began to wonder what would happen if she lay down on the bench and licked the woman's thighs, delighted in her deep cleavage, sucking the pulse point on her target neck and tasting it under the expensive fabric. "Why?" She countered, trying to get the libidinous thoughts out of her head.

"I was interested in your project for the landscape collection, I thought we could buy the materials together and work on it. Are you interested?" In you? Very. The student bit her tongue to keep that sentence out, Roberta gave her an interested look, blowing the smoke gently and stopping at the red light.

"I would love to." She whispered, it would be the first time in her life that she would work with someone so renowned.

"Thursday I have an important meeting with the rectory, but Tuesday sounds good to me." Just the tone of her voice talking about her super sexy busy schedule, made Agnes cross her legs. Her head was playing against her, placing millions of images of a Roberta behind a large closed wooden table, with beautiful glasses, Agnes would crawl under the furniture very slowly, spreading her turned legs and taking time to lick and suck that woman. , until she was nothing but a soft handful of bones and muscles. Her mouth immediately salivated, she thought about the picture, wanted to ask if the woman beside her liked that kind of vision. Agnes would do anything to kneel in front of you and lick it whole. "Does all four sound good to you?"

"Definitely." She whispered, and for a moment the mist of desire dissipated and she blinked quickly. Staring at the woman still wrapped in the gray of the white cigarette. "Sorry what?"

"I asked if I can pick you up at four in the afternoon." She ratified it, walking down the street from her home.

"It's a great time, Roberta." Just five minutes later the girl was removed from her erotic dreams, the car parked next to her dimly lit building. Agnes took off his own belt and opened the door in a rush of courage. "Thank you so much for the night and for that." She commented, truly delighted.

"It was a pleasure to have you today, Agnes." The teacher touched her face in a feather stroke, her touch was warm. "Have sweet dreams, dear." And Agnes thought that her lung could be punctured at any moment, she murmured a shy good night and strode to the lobby. The car did not move until she was inside the building and she did not know what to think about it, but chose not to think about anything, Agnes preferred to run to her bed and slip a finger slowly into her soaked panties. When his orgasm hit him hard, the name Roberta escaped her lips in a beautiful moan.

The unfinished charcoal screen was watching Agnes with intent eyes, a poorly made mouth and that strange streak in the left corner. That was her chair design on manual techniques, and even then, the girl seemed unsatisfied with the waving of her hands. Her hair was tied with a red scarf, and the mustard jumpsuit looked even more stained with the remains of charcoal. Giving up on finishing the screen, she set off in search of a cold glass of water, the sun was setting and the day had been exhausting. As she returned to the luscious cotton carpet of paint, charcoal and white glue, her phone started to ring. The number on the display was not in her contact list, Agnes took a minute to try to decipher, but decided to answer it.

"Yes?" She asked, intrigued.

"I'll be here in ten minutes, I had a little setback, forgive me." The voice on the other side made the girl almost drop the handmade ceramic cup, squinting in disbelief. She had forgotten that appointment, rather, she had forgotten it was Tuesday. Her head kept making her available to dozens of images involving the other woman, so many daydreams that she forgot.

"No problem, Roberta." She wanted to speak your name on purpose, wanted to test your syllables against your language, wanted to record each letter.

"Six minutes." She promised, her voice sounded amused.

"I'll wait." Played Agnes, she was unaware that it might sound like a flirtation, or a sexual suggestion. When the line went dead, her eyes skipped over to the picture framed on her living room wall, so beautiful. It felt so intimate, to kneel in front of someone, put your knees on the floor and prostrate yourself in front of someone. Almost sacred, like a bow. The young artist had never felt that desire before, this one to be entirely prostrate for someone, for someone specific. Before her daydreams took her to another wet panties, the student stood up and changed the overalls blouse for a white shirt with short sleeves, put her hair back in a more presentable way and put on her mother's simple earrings . She washed the coal stains from her hands and reached for her fabric backpack, collecting the portable charger and the list of materials she had made a few days earlier. She also filled a bottle with cold water, and when she was ready to close the door, a horn sounded under her window. Her shoes almost slipped on the messy floor when she ran over there, waving to the car with dark windows.

"One minute." She screamed in amusement, Roberta lowered her window and laughed at her behavior. The young woman closed the windows securely, grabbed her black sunglasses, hurriedly closed the door and ran up the familiar stairs. At the lobby, the caretaker offered a polite greeting and she responded as she walked through the gate, the sun looked orange through the dark lenses and the glass bottle was sweating in her hand. The car was properly parked in front of the building, he pulled on his door and sat comfortably on the leather seat. The photographer was sliding her finger across the screen of the black iphone, her eyes quickly skimmed over the overalls with small stains of paint and other products, rising over the sun-golden face and opening up a cheerful countenance.

"I like your outfit, Agnes." She explained, touching the left handle of the garment. "How are you, darling?" The college girl loved that word, that set of syllables crossing her mouth. Roberta put a fragrant arm over her back in a soft hug, sliding her hands over the back of the jumpsuit and leaving a slow caress on the youthful face.

"Frustrated, I have this project to deliver and I can't do anything decent." She confessed, putting the belt on with clumsy fingers. The pleasurable sensation of having the woman's floral scent on you could brighten your worst days. "Is that you?"

"Difficult day in the department, two students were injured in a project and there is paperwork up to the ceiling about medical assistance." She commented, starting the car and taking the main road. "I need to buy my niece a gift, maybe you can help me?"

"I don't know if I know children that well." She stirred, amused.

"You must know better than I do, your age is closer." Of course she would make this joke, it was in the face. Agnes laughed loudly and did not notice that the woman looked mesmerized by her face. "We can try to solve your project too, can the landscape photos be used for this chair?" Questioned softly, the girl stared at the sky through the window.

"Are you really going to let me use your photos?" Roberta gave him a confused look.

"Of course, I thought I made that quite clear." She scored, simplistically.

Roberta indicated a very chic store on the top floor of the mall so they could look for something for her niece, it was a clothing store and according to the teacher, her niece was passionate about fashion. Agnes rebuked the thought that a twelve-year-old child might, in fact, be interested in such expensive clothes. The store attendant attended Roberta like a queen, being too friendly, offering champagne to both and being a great listener about what they wanted. After Roberta commented on who the gift was for, and her preferences, the woman took her to a room with several beautiful dresses in sparkling pastel colors. The student remained leaning against one of the plaster walls, admiring the scene of the older woman running her fingers through the most varied pieces. After she already had three dresses chosen, Agnes walked to a table a little further away, with scarfs arranged on a glass surface. One was an almost dark coral, with small shades of burnt gray on the bars. She touched the fabric, fine silk melting against her pale fingers, the cold lines seemed to send shivers down her phalanx. A breath in pastel tones, so delicate.

"It suits you, dear." Roberta commented, a step away. Her hand landed against the young woman's back, spying the fabric dissolving in her steady hands.

"It's a beautiful tone." She concluded, resting the handkerchief exactly where it was and facing the photographer. "Did you get the dress?"

"The box is preparing a gift package." She pointed, a minute with her eyes fixed on him. "There is an art supply store on this floor, don't you want to go ahead while I finish the purchase?" Agnes waved sheepishly and smiled as she left the store.

Roberta appeared just a few minutes later, carrying two small bags in her hands and a kind face. The photographer walked to the shelves with infinite shades of paint, the student looked really amazed. "Do you see something you like?" She questioned, but Agnes didn't move a muscle.

"I do not know and you?" She countered, still amused.

"I do see." She replied, staring at the back of the curious head.

The two women spent a lot of time in the store, Agnes grudgingly showed that list she had prepared, traced some paths about the project and listened to the older woman's opinions. Roberta informed that adding colors would be a great contrast to the photos, and that they could use a technique with burnt papers to cause a cracked effect on the canvas. They also chose several shades of green, blue and yellow. When the photographer caught her brown eyes focused on any shade that escaped those agreed upon, she managed to discreetly place the tube of paint in the basket and walked away with a cynical countenance. Roberta also did not let the young woman pay for absolutely nothing, handing her card to the seller and waiting for the almost seven bags full of materials. After enjoying the evening to go to a cozy cafeteria next to the mall, the blonde-haired photographer drove to Agnes's building.

"Thank you for today, dear." She intoned, parking the car. "It's been a while since I had so much fun." She explained, watching the girl untie her leather belt.

"The feeling is mutual." She explained, giving him a smile. "Are you going to call me to arrange the day and time?" For the project, she remembered.

"I just need to revisit that ceaseless paperwork, and I give you my suggestions over the phone." The woman pulled the bags from the backseat, the bags were so many that they would take work to climb the stairs. "Do your tests and take what you think matches." She suggested. "Have a good night, Agnes."

The college girl murmured a good night Roberta, softly and got out of the Audi trying to balance herself with the exorbitant amount of bags. The car did not move while walking to the entrance, the janitor carried some bags with him to the elevator and greeted her with a desire for a good rest. After turning on the lights in the small apartment, Agnes couldn't resist opening all the bags and spilling their contents on the floor covered in ink-stained newspaper. Tubes and tubes of paint slid across the floor, brushes, drawing pencils, fancy scissors, leaves and more different leaves, ceramic watercolors and large blank canvas. One of the bags was different, much smaller and did not have the same brand as the others. For a moment Agnes believed that the other woman had forgotten her niece's gift with her, but the packaging was much less, when she captured the paper that wrapped the piece, her countenance almost fell.

The gray and coral scarf spilled over her thighs, milky fabric everywhere, beautiful little details covering the thin piece. She took some time to caress the piece, running her fingers over the cold, delicate fabric. A white glow rested on the bottom of the bag, the young woman picked up the small card with letters drawn from a black pen.

"Honey, this piece matches your delicate features. I couldn't leave it at the store to be bought by someone else, it was made for you.

Please use it when you come to my house. I'm excited to see it in you.

With love, Roberta Monteiro. "


	2. obsession

Agnes tried hard not to think about the photographer for the next few days, better than that, tried not to be disappointed when her phone didn't ring. On Wednesday she checked her phone for hours sitting in the library, peeked message by message, hung up on her mother early just to get her line free. On Thursday she was unable to paint even a trace, her fingers seemed to slip by the brush all the time, her hands were sweating and her head was too far from that room with canvas nailed to wooden easels. On Friday the student found some excuse to go to the photography department's documentation center, the long, clean-floored corridor had huge windows, locked cabinets and closed doors. Agnes walked across the narrow corridor, trying to be discreet while reading the names on the wooden doors. The last door on the left caught her attention: Monteiro, R. The young woman thought that she could very easily dump all her snacks in that dark garbage dump, standing in front of the door with a golden handle, her hands itched to touch it. But when she heard voices inside, she gave up on any nonsense and walked away with uncertain steps. The door moved, the sound of the doorknob turning was enough for her to despair, to fumble on her feet and almost fall to the floor. She went to one of the large closets, opened the door with force and hid half the body like a child caught in the act.

"I'm sorry about that, wealth." Her voice was so familiar that it hurt, throbbing in her bones. Agnes was already sorry for that damn idea of whirlwind, what she was thinking, her narcissistic syndrome sounded loud. She wanted to be the only one, with affectionate nicknames and warm touches. Even so, her belly froze. "Believe me, I am doing everything to resolve these issues as quickly as possible." Roberta was wearing pants so beautiful, curly beige against her shapely legs and a gray shirt like cement, she looked so professional inside the fresh fabric. Agnes felt the wet burn in the center of her body, squinted gently and tried to normalize her breathing.

"Thank you teacher, you are the best." The girl slid, sweet words in very sweet tones. Through the tears in the closet Agnes could see the young woman with short, straight, blond hair, anchoring herself on the woman with a soft hug and tight hands. Agnes was unfamiliar with that sharp feeling inside, with that saw knife slicing his lung into two equal halves. Roberta hugged her student back, left a stroking caress in her stylish hair and watched as the girl walked out of the hall, delicate steps and short dress. Behind the beautiful closet, the young artist tried to fix her eyes on the dark wall, sneakily waiting for the right moment to close that door and run out of that damn lighted department. She should run to the dean's office, complain that that part of the university was infinitely brighter than everything else and that it was unfair, completely unfair. Just as it was unfair for rich middle-aged women to play with you like that, just to magically disappear from your life. She tried not to feel betrayed, tried harder not to let the hurt take up too much space in her chest.

"Fernanda, we are finishing today. I need to make a call." She announced, closing the door quietly and walking out of the department as she pulled the phone out of her pocket. Agnes walked so quickly to the back door of the department that her feet barely touched the floor, when she opened the doors and practically threw herself against the damp grass, the wind whipped her face like rain, making her hair look like a dark curtain. Taking a deep breath of the smell of wet earth and fresh green, her lungs already seemed lighter, her chest emptied, she liked herself better that way. She thought of her traveled to that canvas left aside in the living room of her apartment, now she already knew what she could paint, now the paints mixed in her head like music, now the white paper was no longer threatening. She walked in heavy steps to her house, living near the campus had its advantages, minimal, but they existed. Agnes was uneducated when she ran down the stairs, stepping firmly and making everyone aware of her presence, but the girl had no time for courtesies when a picture formed so clearly in her head. With the door closed and shades of yellow spread over his new watercolor, the brush practically moved alone between his fingers, lines and more lines appearing on the canvas, a frame with a frame, a yellow photograph hanging over him. It was crisp, beautiful and casual. The frame was a very strong shade of brown with yellow, smooth strokes at the edges and a pair of eyes in the center. They were huge eyes, blond hair running down her wrinkled forehead, shades of green and gold running through her wide eyes. She seemed to be scared, impacted or surprised.

•

It was after four in the morning when Agnes managed to drop the black brush, lowering the watercolor and running his tired hands over his face. Her hair was all out of place, and her stomach seemed to be screaming at you. Letting the screen dry naturally, and walking to your small kitchen. She chopped two large tomatoes and poured the irregular pieces into the frying pan, the smell already made her mouth salivate, sealed breads and distributed the tomatoes on bread seasoned with garlic and various spices. As she stretched her spine, she bit a piece of the hot bruschetta and examined her nearly empty cell phone. Agnes almost spit the contents out of her mouth when the notifications reached her eyes. 25 missed calls from Roberta, stamped her lock screen.

"You have five messages." The electronic voice warned, robotic. "Press one to hear your scraps, two to clean your scrapbook, three to repeat your message." His luscious tomato finger hit the number one displayed on the screen. "Agnes, it's Roberta speaking ... I mean, I believe you have my number saved on your device. I tried to contact you a few times, but I believe your cell phone may be off, or you are busy." A sigh sounded on the line. "I want to apologize, I promised to call you and ended up being buried at work. I was stuck all afternoon today with one of the sisters of that student who had an accident, do you remember? I hope you do." A long second of silence. "I'm in front of your building, I've been waiting for you to miraculously show up at the window, but I don't think that's going to happen. Please call me." The line went silent, Agnes felt her mouth set.

"Agnes, I'm afraid you blocked my calls, I hope I'm wrong. I didn't want to disappear this way, I'm sorry, dear." The sound of crumpling paper was painful. "Please call me as soon as possible."

"Listen, did you like Scarf? I was so excited to see you wearing it. It must have fallen perfectly on you, dear." Another pause of painful silence, the young woman wondered what was happening. "I passed a store with a lot of these, I had to contain the urge to buy absolutely all of them for you." Silence, painful silence. "Forgive me for disappearing, let me apologize properly in front of you. Call me Agnes, please call me." The student was unable to hear the remaining two messages, her belly was cold and her lips were almost trembling. Quickly dialing the number and waiting while the line rang, long rings, and for a moment Agnes thought she wasn't near the phone or working.

"Agnes?" The voice on the other end sounded sleepy, syllables dragged down the phone. She had forgotten what time it was, dawn was rising among tired clouds.

"Bad time? I'm sorry, for a moment I forgot that it's already dawn." She pointed it out, running a luscious hand of dry paint through her unruly hair and rubbing her eyes. She hurt the soft flesh of her movable eyelid, it hurt, her eye watered. "I can call you tomorrow."

"No of course not." She protested, alert.

"I just heard your messages, I was in agony to speak to you soon." She confessed, silence dying in the cold dawn. I was in agony to see you.

"I thought you blocked my calls after I disappeared." A rustle of sheets reached the phone line, Agnes closed her tired eyes and let her mind travel to what smell she had when she was lying down. What clothes she would be wearing, what color her sheet would be, what shade of her lips right now. "I'm sorry, Agnes, I'm so sorry, dear." Her body shook whole, there was so much melancholy in her voice. "I've been in hell all week, stacks and stacks of reports, endless meetings and hellish discussions with the deans." The student could already feel sleep kissing her lips, dreams of a comfortable sheet and a hot woman wrapped around her. "Agnes, are you still there?"

"I'm not upset Roberta, I understand your job." She whispered, hoarse and dragged. "I was upset, but now I understand." Perhaps it was the torrid tiredness, the exorbitant amount of pain that her spine was sending to her, the bruised shape that her fingers seemed to have withered. In the background, soft touches of an imaginary piano sounded like an alert, of course it wasn't fatigue. Agnes had always been one of those people who remedied grievances for days, weeks and years, reliving that little situation to puncture the wound itself, a little masochist. But like everything about Roberta, anger was also not something she could keep herself. Not about an incredibly sweet woman, with thoughtful eyes and endless gestures of kindness.

"Come to my house tomorrow, let's start the project." She suggested, another rustle of sheets followed by a soft sip, a glass resting on a flat surface and a light sigh. "Bring extra clothes, sleep here."

Soaked by sleep, bathed in the clear waters of the world of Morpheus full of fog. His eyelids already seemed too heavy, his eyes burned with sleep and the cool breeze that entered the window was an invitation to a world of fantasies. "Uhum, I would love to sleep with you Roberta." She said, drunk.

"I believe you are already sunk in the world of dreams, dear." The teacher's voice was already far, distant, as if they were separated by a deep dense lake. "But I'm glad to hear that, have a good rest." If the photographer said anything else, Agnes was already asleep.

•

The sun woke the young woman after eleven in the morning, sweat running down her skin easily, the window was wide open and what was once a cold breeze turned into wide burning rays projected exactly on her. She blinked alertly and yawned loudly and clearly, her cell phone on her chest, her hands covered in paint and her sore neck indicated that she fell asleep in the middle of the conversation. At least now she knew that Roberta had not simply disappeared from her life, that she had been stuck in her very sexy and very important job and that the woman, even far away, wanted to buy an entire scarf store for herself. There was that melancholy feeling inside her chest about gifts, about being gifted, she felt almost cared for, almost wanted and precious. Agnes had not been one of those children with a healthy relationship about her parents, her father died when he was a child and his mother had to choose the job, ensure that they would not starve. Growing up alone poured a series of traumas into her head, one of them, this ridiculous thing, this almost unbearable need to want to be cared for, to look wanted and precious to someone. Agnes had carried this traumatic bag for all her relationships, saturating her partners and leading everyone to failure. Her psychologist always told her that this bag should not be carried alone, that she should find someone who shared this desire with her, to care. But the girl ended up ending her searches, preferring to come home alone every day and ignore all the flirtatious offers she receives.

After a lazy breakfast, a long and massaging bath with music, and a quick organization on your living room floor. The college student was able to sit on her couch with a pink ceramic mug smelling of fresh tea, curling up on cushions and fishing for any interesting film that could kill her time consuming. When she decided to review one of her sugar water novels, her device vibrated incessantly. Barely looking at the screen, she answered.

"Hi?" She exclaimed, eyes glassy as the main character seemed to flirt shamelessly with the blonde literature teacher with incredibly pool blue eyes.

"I'm under your window, are you ready yet?" The young woman's head shook as if she were drunk, her feet barely touched the floor when she ran in exasperation to her open window. The sun almost blinded her eyes and she held the device more tightly to her ear, Roberta lowered her window and smiled against the device. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"I remember very little about our conversation, Roberta." She confessed, making a strange face and watching the woman delight in laughter. "Listen, am I not mad at you anymore?" She lied shamelessly, leaning completely on the window, small breasts pressed against the railing. "Give me five minutes, ma'am, I'll fill your ATM with messages until you call me."

Agnes ran chaotic over her apartment, stuffing two changes of clothes into a jeans backpack, a small case with toiletries and some daily makeup products. She put together all the paints she had separated into a single fabric bag, along with some pre-projects that she had to work with and devices she would help. She picked up her phone, charger and notebook of ideas. Her long white dress with thin straps shone for a long time against the hot sun, her wavy hair swaying delicately inside the silky scarf, while she descended the stairs completely barefoot, she had tucked her good pair of sandals in her backpack and the floor seemed to burn her feet. The janitor gave him a nice morning smile and whispered a greeting, when the gate opened Agnes almost ran to the car while cursing his stupidity.

"Why are you barefoot?" Roberta wanted to know, taking her jeans bag and resting it on the back seat, doing the same with the cotton bag full of materials.

"I put the sandal in the bag." She confessed, amused. The photographer took a minute to crawl her eyes over the woman in her car, swallowing every detail of her existence, the small and delicate earrings, the threads that escaped the scarf, her skin in contrast to the silky fabric. She curled her forefinger in that little curly streak escaping the scarf, crawled her hand over her delicate features and left a lingering kiss on her forehead. Agnes felt her entire body tremble, as if she were, in fact, freezing on her bench.

"I'm sorry, dear." She announced, touching her hand in a gesture of comfort. "I want you to know that it will never happen again."

"There's no problem, Roberta, your job requires a lot more energy." She argued, clasping her hands together. Roberta's fingers looked much more delicate than hers, with prominent veins and a pearl ring on her middle finger. "Just don't disappear, please." Agnes wondered what was the tone of her voice, if she showed how urgent her desire to be with this woman was.

"I won't, next time I will ask you to settle in my office and leave that place less dull." She slid in, starting the car and letting go of her hands with a soft grip. A small squeeze formed in the student's chest, she bit her tongue before she could speak any nonsense.

•

Roberta's house was in the same neighborhood where the vernissage had been, a few streets after that residential street. Inside a gated community, a strictly secure concierge and two security parties that greeted Roberta with a very smooth good day. Agnes felt a small bubble form in her stomach, painfully uncomfortable as her eyes shone over the houses, they were huge, gigantic, large manicured lawns and colorful flowers. The sun was pricking her eyes and the smell of wet grass pecked the bridge of her nose, Roberta was very calm while driving the car with strong wheels, stoic eyes and lips pressed together. The teacher's residence was one of the first, the garage was varnished and painted in a very sweet tone. If Agnes suspected that the woman was wealthy, her expectations were completely dashed, the woman is filthy rich. The two-story house had a very high ceiling, sliding doors and rustic wooden furniture, large pictures on the walls and green plants falling on the shelves. While the young woman was still killing her curiosity about the works, the other woman's phone rang incessantly. Roberta took the phone in her hand and touched her shoulder gently, announced a go ahead, search everything she wants. And she walked into the garden with the device hanging from her ear. Basically, Agnes thought that she should have explained that that was not a good idea. Roberta shouldn't say things like that to her, after all, she didn't know about her past, she wasn't aware of her condition and she had no idea of the things that Agnes had already done. But shame eroded her chest, she burned artery by artery and decided to walk only through the studio. It was a room by the stairs, bigger than her entire apartment, a giant wooden table and millions and millions of paints scattered on the floor. She left her backpack on one of the wooden chairs, and flew across the room like a hawk, sunlight shone on the white papers on the table and crawled across the floor. Searching through everything she could, the college student at least noticed that time was passing, amused enough as she tested all the brushes. The ones with very thin, wide ends, those who had never slept and those who at least knew what it worked for. When the photographer caught the scene, she stopped her feet on the threshold, enjoying the view as much as she could and silently capturing her analog camera resting in one of the drawers. Agnes was startled by the flash, her heart raced faster and she almost fell off the bench with long legs.

"Stay, tell me what you're up to." Roberta commented, wrapping the camera strap around her right hand.

"Testing your brushes, there are so many." She explained, dipping that thin brush in half a glass with water and orange paint. The mistress of the house walked over to the table, leaned over the wooden surface and nailed her fingers in the abundant mixture of tones and streaks. She placed the camera against her eyes and shot some pictures, smiling as she registered not only the sheet of paper but Agnes' amused eyes. The sun shining behind the young woman, light entering her hair, the silky scarf wrapped around her, in contrast to the white color of the dress.

"I could charge my image right." Murmured the student, ignoring the frightening noise of capturing the old camera.

"I will be very happy to pay." Roberta gave him a knowing look over the camera, before shooting another flash straight at the woman's face in front of her, sawn eyes and pursed lips in an almost smile.

Roberta demanded that they wear an apron to keep their clothes from getting dirty, apart from the older woman who tied the lace of the fabric on her back and Agnes forced all the shivers from her body away, she also pretended not to shiver with her soft breathing on the back of your neck. In a few minutes of the creative process, the girl had already noticed that the older woman was, much more organized than she was, placing the tubes of paint next to each other carefully and placing three different glasses of water so that they did not mix the colors. While Agnes was used to mixing everything in one glass, always use the same luscious brush and not care about the stains on your clothes. Roberta was methodical, organized and very strict with her dispositions. They were completely different artists, while Agnes had not taken a second before brushing the canvas with a dubious shade of olive green, Roberta was testing the white sheet of paper, gently studying the brush's bristles and silently adding more water to the mix. It turns out that there seemed to be a melting point, the two tones clashing with the watercolor looked good together, waltzing through the studio as if they were always there. Agnes managed to turn around in his luscious mess, with streaks of blue paint on his forehead and humming a song softly. Roberta had much more ink on the white paper than on her canvas, working in detail on the details, in absolute silence over her head, calculating how much of each color she should throw on the canvas hanging on the easel. Still, from time to time the photographer dropped her project to retrieve her camera and photograph a young girl wrapped in the small mess of bright paints. Still, Agnes always walked over to the principal's stained water glass and dipped her luscious brush there, leaving the glass a new shade of red or blue. The older one sent him a false angry look, held her once clean body to her chest and protected him. They did not see the sky darken, the light of the studio became electric and the environment started to become cold.

"We are fine for today, dear." Roberta announced, removing her luscious apron with the paint that the other had made a point of smelling. "Come on, I'll show you to your room and you can take a shower."

Agnes reflected on the conflicting feelings in her belly under the electric shower, delightfully warm water cascading down her back. She tried to send that familiar itch in the back of her head away, tried not to pay attention to the hellish amount that Roberta continued to infest her head in a pearly mist. Her arms trembled when exposed to the cold of the incredibly large suite, the bed with silky sheets in a soft shade of blue. She dressed quickly, wiping her wet hair and disguising her lingering anxiety with white fabric shorts and a yellow button-up blouse. When her eyes landed on her phone, her head flashed and her hands dialed the known number with just a few rings. Her icy feet touched the sliding wooden floor when the line sounded empty, almost three rings later the voice on the other side brought calmness to her chest.

"Agnes?" The sharp tone almost smashed her brain, it had been a long time since she allowed herself to make that kind of phone call. "What happened?"

"I'm slipping." She confessed, eyes burning.

"Okay, it happens. It's an imperfect process, remember?" Of course, she remembered, remembered every day. When she can forget all the hellish days buried in that scary hospital, the drugs down her throat, the manic behaviors, the exorbitant amount she had to pay when she broke the restraining order and the fearful look her mother gave her in court. "Is someone new?"

"I followed her to her department on Friday, I'm at her house." She commented, guilty. There is this scary thing about compulsive behaviors, about becoming so unconscious about her wants that her body no longer belongs to her. Her legs move on their own, her hands run over other touches and her head closes in absolute silence. "I'm afraid." She completed, staring at her bare feet.

"You can't hide things like that from people, Agnes. It isn't fair to them." Justice is such a fierce concept, to be unfair to someone, to deviate your way from the straight road and send you on a moral curve. But it wasn't fair to herself either, it wouldn't be fair to be able to expose that hideous part of her personality. "And it's not fair to you, either." The wind coming in through the room made her skin prickle, Agnes let her body fall on the comfortable bed, closed her eyes and tried to force a breath into her diaphragm. "People like you, like me, people like us need special treatment and sincerity." I tried not to think about the police siren, the shrill scream surrounding me as my hands trembled painfully. "Do you have your emergency medicine?"

"Yes." I announced, to the ceiling.

"You know what to do, be careful with your limits." Agnes knew what she had to do, it didn't mean that she had the courage to do it.

So the young student did the only thing she could to preserve her image, or at least what was left of her. She stuffed all of her clothes back into her jeans bag, put on her mustard shoes and took a deep breath before walking through the heavy door and walking down the stairs on wobbly legs. Anxiety seemed to devour her brain, a ferocious bacterium smashed behind her eyes and consuming her judgment. Compulsive thoughts of her seemed to grow stronger, hotter and closer. Agnes was almost reaching the door to the room, visualizing the empty street and wet lawn. The streetlights were already on, some cars were running down the avenue and the girl thought she might have to walk a bit to get a bus, she could pay a little more money and opt for a taxi. But before her hand could touch the golden doorknob, hurried footsteps sounded against the floor and her chest jumped.

"Where are you going?" She didn't want to turn around, didn't want to have to face the kind eyes while she fought her demons. She also didn't want to have to talk about who she was, what the hell her hair was in and what lawsuits she had to deal with. "You are going?" Roberta crossed the room, Agnes leaned her forehead against the front door, the cold material fought the fire inside her brain, in vain. "Why?" Her voice was so close, so close. Agnes wanted to cry, she had never been this close to a panic attack in months. "Did I say something, did I do something to you? Something that made you uncomfortable?" The young woman tapped her forehead against the hard surface, once, twice, three times unconsciously. And Roberta pulled her by the shoulders, attentive eyes and worried expression, that mistletoe between her eyebrows as she scrutinized the other's face. "Agnes, talk to me, dear." She asked, her hand touching the red that spread across the girl's forehead, the tears that flowed silently and the pupils dilated.

"I can not stay." She whispered, her throat seemed to strangle him like never before, teeth gnashing in a terrifying noise. "I have-" her voice scratched, her throat closing. The photographer dragged her fingers through her hair, rubbing her thumb over a tear that made its way over her pale cheek. "An obsessive-compulsive condition." As usual, Agnes took a step back, sinking her backpack against the front door. Reactions about her condition were never good, they were always followed by terrified eyes and fear, very fear. People were afraid of being followed, of being harassed in their work environment, afraid that Agnes would make a copy of her keys and break into her house in the middle of the night to find out all about herself, afraid of having a girl like her addicted to herself. about the rest of your life. Agnes waited, waited and waited. She waited for the startled look, the order and the door being locked forever. But Roberta still looked calm, her eyes passable and her brows drawn down, her expression was more concerned than alert.

"Is that why you came to my office yesterday?" Agnes' face fell to the floor, her knees nearly failed and a sob caught in her throat. When things like that became visible, when her behavior became transparent it was even worse, it was physically painful. It was her addiction being thrown in front of her, as if she had been caught with an exorbitant amount of drugs.

"I'm so sorry." The girl whispered, her eyes swollen and her body paralyzed.

"Are you having a compulsive crisis right now?" The teacher took a step forward again, indulgent fingers caressing her wet cheek and worried eyes. She answered with a small yes. "And did you have your medication?" Agnes thought Roberta believed she would break, that her skin could crumble at any moment and her hands seemed to be afraid that she would evaporate at any moment, but she nodded and took the small, untouched carton out of her front pocket in her shorts. Perhaps Agnes was too numb between her exhausting anxiety and the unexpected reaction, but she didn't notice when the backpack was removed from her shoulder and a delicate hand was placed on her back. She couldn't remember how she was installed lightly between silky sheets and the smell of lavender everywhere. When Roberta offered her a cup of tea, mint and honey to sweeten her mouth, next to the pill she had just taken from the pack, the young woman felt that exorbitant amount of tranquilizer passing through her arteries as if it were cold water. Soothing your fever, calming your brain's ceaseless machine and making your eyelids heavier.

"Sweet dreams, dear." Roberta whispered against her forehead, and the notes of a distant piano ignited her ears again, a sparkling mist of sleep infesting her senses. It was sweet, almost fierce. The feel of the warm blankets against her skin, the bed smelling like the older woman, the warm darkness of the room, and finally the feeling of relief.

•

Agnes woke up with a horn blaring in the distance, and her eyes took a long time to move, heavy lids glued to her dark iris. The only light in the room was the silver moonbath, and when she sat on the silky sheet her hips felt sore. The girl stayed this way for long minutes, trying to force her memory to the events of earlier, looking for any evidence of what had happened and swallowing when she remembered the hard surface against her forehead and the sweet taste of the tea. She left the room with uncertain steps, evident fear and curious eyes. The corridor had its lights on, but no noise came from the lower floor. When she was already stepping on the last waxed steps she managed to capture, in the midst of a ghostly aura of white smoke and bare feet, Roberta was sitting in one of the black armchairs, a black robe running down to the floor and legs turned by escaping through the fabric. A small hardcover book was on her lap, round glasses and lips pressed against the cigarette filter. After a minute anchored on the banister, the woman noticed her presence, blew nicotine through her shiny lips and lifted her amber eyes.

"How it feels?" She wanted to know, removing her glasses from her face and resting it next to the book on the coffee table. The glass complained when the eyeglass handle slammed against it, a thin shrill noise echoing through the cold room.

"Confused." She confessed, taking the bottom steps and settling on the white two-seater sofa. She wanted to face that woman, she preferred it that way. Fear still rested on her flesh. "Why am I still here, Roberta?" It was a valid question, it was a question that made him afraid. The photographer walked over to the small liquor cart in the left corner, cigarette on her lips when she poured the golden liquid into the crystal glass.

"Because there is no reason for you to leave. " thercrossing her legs again in the comfortable upholstered chair. "Having obsessive behaviors doesn't make you a criminal, especially when you are treated properly and I imagine you are treating them." She pointed, holding the cigarette between her fingers as she swallowed the bitter liquid, her expression hasn't changed.

"I do treatment, but it is not a perfect path." The room felt so empty, the world felt so empty, so infinitely empty. "I followed you to your office." She confessed, as if she were ready to surrender, as if she confessed to a crime.

"I am aware of both statements." She realized, finishing her drink. "There are security cameras on the door of my office, I've been watching the exorbitant amount of time you've spent staring at my door." Agnes stretched her legs on the floor as she made a difficult path to the liquor cart and using one of the expensive glasses, she didn't know much about fancy drinks, but she knew she needed alcohol in her system to keep from freaking out. "I am also aware of the restraining order you broke with your ex girlfriend, the complaints of harassment and harassment in your work environment." The young girl swallowed the contents that burned her throat, burned her tongue and ripped out all the way to her stomach. She coughed at the strange sensation, poured herself another drink and sat on the sofa staring at the crystal glass.

"Did you research my life, Roberta?" She asked, even though she had done the same, guilty pleasure sliding on her skin with each new information.

"Your lawsuits are filed on your student record, I'm a director, I have access to this paperwork." She punctuated, fingers circling her temple and eyes almost sad. "I understand about compulsive behaviors Agnes, we all have a part that we wish it didn't exist." The whiskey didn't burn her tongue so much this time, just a soft burn on her throat and nothing more. "But I ask you to be honest with me, why exactly did you come to my office?" And there it was, of course she was. The most difficult part of the confession, admitting that she chased someone may be more tender than informing her of the reasons, the motivation was always one step deeper into the sulfur lake of hell.

"Because I believed that you had forgotten me." Agnes finished her second dose, considered asking him for a cigarette when the other woman lit another, but gave up halfway. "I was obsessed, I needed to see you." The girl pleaded with Roberta to understand the clear difference between wanting and needing, for her to understand, the desperate form she could have taken if she hadn't laid eyes on the older figure. It was a completely different feeling from longing. Saudade is a sunny day on the beach, cold drinks and salt water. Needing is a storm, driving the car drunk on the edge of a cliff and being aware that it would spin the wheels any minute.

"And why did you have a crisis today?" It looked like curiosity, it sounded like order. "We were together all day today, I gave you my full-time attention and yet ..." Her sigh was covered by a deep drag on her white cigarette. "You still looked so scared, you looked even more affected than the day at my door."

"Compulsions are a complicated thing, an addiction is not always the same. Sometimes it is too much, too many feelings, too many wants and your head just fails." Agnes didn't remember talking about it to anyone except her psychologist. Translating the confused signals from her head into words was a difficult thing, she used to spend hours in silence with Soraia, sitting in a comfortable white chair and shivering with the cold. It took him a long time to be able to lose his fear, confess his wishes, give the devils a voice in his head and face that it was part of him, like everything else. "In the beginning it is an intense curiosity, it is wanting to know everything about someone just to share a bond. Then it is about possession, it is about wanting to know someone so much so that that person is yours." Roberta uncrossed and crossed her legs, put her hair behind her ear and looked at him with beautiful eyes. "If a relationship is established there is constant mistrust, the fear of abandonment, and you go on to follow all your steps just to ensure that it is not going to abandon you." Confess, soft and soft. It had been like that with his last girlfriend, with the one before that, with his first, with all of them.

"At what stage are you with me, Agnes?" She slipped, after pouring herself another dose of the golden liquid. The girl already felt numb, perhaps because of the provocative aura, perhaps because of the sight of her turned legs, the black color that always populated her dreams, or her genuine curiosity.

"Do not know." He lied, he didn't want to tell her that they were at the stage where she wanted to kneel over him every day, that she dreamed of her warm touches every night, that she needed to force herself not to end up painting parts of her body in her sketchbook . She didn't want to admit out loud that they were at the stage where Agnes was afraid of his own actions with her.

"I thought we were being honest." A smile curved her lips, teeth aligned, and lips wet with whiskey. The girl crossed her legs, grabbed the empty glass against her chest and prayed that her wish wasn't transparent over her eyes, that she couldn't read the state of her panties on her face. "Are you afraid of my reaction?"

"I don't think you're going to enjoy listening." She murmured, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Try me." It took Agnes a minute not to take those words the wrong way, it wasn't the most beautiful and smart thing to do in a situation like that. She wasn't sure what she could leave her mouth for, once she detonated talking about the fire in her stomach, she thought she should have had a few more glasses, maybe a few bottles.

"I can't stop thinking about you, with and without clothes, all the time." She whispered, without looking at Roberta. "I'm always fantasizing about crazy situations involving us, that's why I was so worried when she disappeared, I couldn't stop my paranoia."

"Do your fantasies involve the painting you chose at the vernissage?" And Agnes almost slapped herself for being so naive, so innocent as to think that this powerfully lived woman did not know how to recognize attraction, desire or behavior like hers. The young woman murmured a yes softly through the tongue that still tingled, Roberta lit a new cigarette and stared at her face for a long minute. "I will offer you two options, dear." Her heart beat faster, just a little more blood circulating to all regions, running and running, ringing in her ears. "I can take you home now, we pretend that none of this has happened and I can pick you up another day to run the project and leave this relationship as it is." The smell of nicotine reached the student, strong breathing and feverish body. "I am not a teenager, I have complete control over my actions and I know exactly what their roots are." Agnes had never heard her tone take on so many powerful nuances, she could be talking about business, college-related subjects and she wouldn't notice. "If you believe that this relationship should remain as it is, I can do that."

"And the other option?" Agnes thought that her voice could easily be mistaken for a libidinous request, with words of pleasure.

"Or you can kneel down and consummate your fantasies, dear." The whole world seemed to be silent, the house turning into a red sea filled with sin and lust. "But be aware that once chosen, this path has no point of return and I will be going to consume it." And right now, Agnes understood that it wasn't just about sex, it was about so much more and her chest shook with fear for just a second. A single moment before her lips left for oxygen.


	3. On your knees

Agnes let some incredibly slow minutes pass by, like small plump raindrops wetting the thin strands of his messy hair, a fine whip of the light breeze and that paralyzing sensation that left his body overflowing with enough adrenaline to be completely paralyzed. Her hand very slowly let the crystal glass roll over the white carpet with velvety strips, and she tested the floor with her uncertain feet. It could have been hours, neither of them would know, the clock seemed to have stopped the moment the older woman had punctuated her last prayer. His thin lips clutched the filter of his pale cigarette, the smoke dripping from her tongue and forming a pearly fabric against her face. The student was still reproducing the words, putting syllable by syllable back in her brain, it was like repeating a song, over and over again. But in this case, the words no longer carried meaning, the letters did not seem clearer and her body had caught fire, burning piece by piece of her epidermis. Agnes had never been one of those women who lived their sexual experiences intensely, with games and fantasies being fulfilled by middle-aged women with golden hair and a withering look. Then, when her feet moved to the elegant padded chair, her head seemed completely out of orbit, as if she were going to wake up any minute ago and the fear of impending interruption seemed to guide all her movements. The young woman let her knees buckle, gently settling against the velvety hair on the expensive rug. The smell of alcohol mixed in the toxic nicotine solution made his mouth water, there was that bitter taste in the bottom of his tongue about self-destruction, the masochistic feeling still consumed his days as a terminal illness. When her eyes lifted cautiously, aiming falsely innocently at the headmistress in front of her, her pupils could easily be burned by the almost sharp gleam in the amber gaze. Roberta carefully stretched her right hand, grabbing that part behind her head and rubbing her warm thumb against the prominent apple of her face, it was an almost delicate gesture, as if the woman needed to confirm that this was, in fact, happening. The teacher touched the soft pillow that was the girl's prominent lips at her feet, rubbing the small curve and crawling over the sensually delicate skin, Agnes's lips were much more exquisite than any scarf.

"It is the most beautiful sight I have ever experienced." Roberta was attacked, unable to take her digits out of that work of art in front of her. Her brown hair fell silky in abundant cascades over her shoulders, making small curves in sweet curls, her big dark eyes looked like swirls and her half-open mouth was the red gate of hell. The girl answered her compliment very gently, separating her inviting mouth further and exposing her crimson tongue, Agnes licked her thumb long, closing her eyes just for a second before looking at the blonde woman with dilated pupils. An electric wave ran through her body when she felt the burn against her finger, she tilted her body forward as if she were being magnetized and the uninhibited young woman was her magnet. When she removed her finger from the erotic caress and grabbed the student's flat chin, her dark eyes flashed in delighted surprise, she tilted her head down a little and allowed to touch her sinful mouth with hers. Agnes propped herself up with her hands on her knees, leaning up thirsty for her delicious lips. Roberta kissed as she painted, as she walked and as she spoke. Her indulgent mouth dominated her full lips very easily, squeezing her jaw with just one hand, strong and unpolished as she pressed their tongues together, stealing her taste and squeezing her chin to the point of pain. Agnes could not contain the low moan that left her lips, trying to hold on to anything, she felt intoxicated enough to lose her feelings, the world had gone out and her brain seemed, for the first in months, completely silent. The only thing present was the dominant grip on her chin and the wet tongue demanding taste from her. Roberta always seemed to build a powerful wave of manipulation around her, as if the world were filled with little puppets resting against her boiling dermis, everything was in control of her, ready for her will. Like Agnes, deliciously subjected to the loot taking place inside her mouth, the woman was severe with her lips, pulling and demanding more and more from herself, as if she were, in fact, stealing everything from him. When they parted, the young woman tilted her head forward in search of just one more taste, heavy eyelids and swollen mouth. The photographer stroked her face once more, digits running down her taut nape and thumb covering the smooth mark of her rounded jaw, and Agnes felt it burn with her inquisitive gaze.

The point is that the road to hell must be traced in neutral, and even if all the signs in her head pointed the other way, Agnes was still trembling about it. There were subtle details in the powerful way that Roberta was able to play with people, straighten her columns and take them to walk exactly what leaves her tongue, and this sharp conduct leaves little space for Agnes and her rampant paranoias. Roberta manages to silence her head in a dangerously sweet voice, she manages to dominate her thoughts with a beautiful set of eyes and drown out all her doubts with a smile and few words. If she could look back, secretly, the girl could admit that all she needed was a woman with a steel wrist, with thick sweetness and a velvety touch against her malleable face. The woman brushed her hair out of her pretty face as Agnes pushed her knees apart, running her calves into the shiny dermis, lifting her phalanx gently up the inside of her tight thighs and grabbing her lips around the exposed flesh. Roberta smelled like herbs and wood, her soft skin stretched out on her tongue and the warmth seemed to overflow with her blood.

"Don't play torture games with me, dear." The blonde whispered, half asking, half bossing. Agnes could never tell the difference, not now. Her hands were nimble when they wrapped themselves over the satin fabric of her panties, dragging them from her knees to her feet, just to discard the garment. It was Roberta who dragged her body to the edge of the chair, almost anxious about her movement, her fingers never leaving the young woman's hair in front of her. The student burned for having given her up for herself as she was, to dump her longings on the floor when she heard her name burning over the older woman's sweet tongue. Agnes wanted her to adore him, to beg for her and only she, wanted there to be no one else in her thoughts when she was around, wanted to reduce Roberta to something that wanted her. It didn't take long for that to happen, it was enough that Agnes invested some time in rubbing his tongue on the right places, inside his left thigh and well above his right knee, was when the first note of control slipped from Roberta and she grabbed a white cigarette against her anxious lips, lighting the white drug and blowing the smoke up.

"It seems to me that I'm not the only one living her fantasy here." The girl pinned, a second before burying her tongue in the wet surface in the center of the legs of others, Roberta hitched a nervous breath and held her hair a little harder. Agnes doubted that she could spend that moment unscathed, her insides could drip between her thighs at any moment. Squeezing her knees again to keep them open, she took her time to taste Roberta again, spreading out between her legs and rubbing her tongue again and again. Wet flesh dripped against her mouth, making her movements much smoother.

"I've been imagining you on your knees ... since I laid eyes on you." She confessed, her words coloring the whitish smoke with strong shades of red.

"I hope that reality reaches the feet of your imagination." The brightness coloring her lips made it take Roberta more than a minute to look away, dropping the handful of curly hair and pressing her hard jaw against her lips, tasting her juices in the warm interior of her reddened mouth was like being in heaven, then staring the long innocent lashes and find yourself in hell.

Roberta was a woman with rules, punctual and consistent rules in her life, defined schedules and short and long term plans. Meeting a fiercely docile girl in a second-rate cafeteria and paying for her food was not in her plans, but then there was that desperate feeling of seeing her pink mouth swallowing her food vigorously, knowing that it was she who provided that feeling, it was a sensation as unique as shooting. Nor was she planning on letting that adorable and dangerous girl inhabit her house, her car, her life and most of all, inhabit the center of her legs. Again, Roberta is one of those ruled women and just a few weeks ago, a new rule had been added to her life: make Agnes a permanent part of her life. Then, when the clever mouth of the beautiful-eyed creature continued its vigorous work, adding clever digits against its specific point of pleasure, Roberta had to squeeze the cigarette butt on her wooden table and hold on to her dark hair. She felt, for the first time in years, completely alive. Her feet vibrated against the floor, and she tried to close her eyes and let the devastating sensation run through her body, but Agnes's eyes were almost swirling ready to devastate her world. Once she reached you, the girl would be her undoing. She would die to have her and be grateful for the destruction she would leave in her life. The teacher announced her name in a mantra, tight vowels, slippery, sticky hot on her tongue.

"Agnes, Agnes, Agnes, Agnes." It was almost a song, the repetition of a prayer to end a call, consecrate her body to a new entity and let her dominate her life. "I'm almost there, dear." She confessed, very slowly. The girl's tight lips sucked just a little harder, her digits went just a little deeper, it wasn't her intention to run with that. The electric wave that grabbed her body came slowly, crawling against her spine and dripping down to her toes, Agnes remained stroking her vulva until her thighs trembled with extreme sensitivity. When she stood up, dimly lit on the plush carpet, she ran her pretty thumb against her red lips and sucked on the remnants left there.

Agnes kissed his legs for long minutes, feeling his hair being delicately combed and enjoying the almost loving sensation. When the photographer stood up with her impeccable posture and lazy smile, taking him by the sensitive neck and invading his mouth with extreme possession, the girl delighted in the unexpected gesture. Let's go up so I can give you one of those, without compromising my spine. It was sweet, completely sweet. When they entered the dark room with the spacious bed, Agnes felt suddenly shaky as she heard the words undress for me to release from the older woman's captivating lips, her shiny blond hair and crossed legs on the pearly sheet. Even so, the student took off each of the pieces she wore, leaving the small lace panties last, the soaked fabric begged to make her sex sensitive. When she did and approached the king size bed, Roberta did not spare her body from any blatant gaze, smoldering irises and curious lips. She touched his breasts, twisted his beak and remained with an almost curious look hanging over him, then spread his tongue over the small dark udders, sliding his hand sneakily to the wet surface between her tight thighs. Play for me, dear. She ordered, blowing against her ear. Desperate, Agnes began to circle her excited center, heavy eyes and parted lips. Do this about me. Roberta was quite comfortable against her pillows now, eyes heavy against her as she reached over to light the warm lamp on the dresser next to her. The student stood still for a second, before crawling on her hands and knees to the older woman's lap, sitting on her thighs and holding the wooden bar nailed to the wall. When her right hand came back to her throbbing clit, Roberta pushed her brown hair back from her shoulder, gently sliding her index finger down the straight line to her hardened breast, the soft flesh spread against the warm palm of her delicate hand. With her eyes on herself, the woman seemed to capture every single detail of herself, exploring with her fingers every inch of bare skin, to then taste it with her lips. Roberta licked her narrow shoulders, descended on her deep collarbone, bit her wrist point and sucked on that tiny sign over her left breast. Agnes was shaking when she had her hand pulled, her fingers were guided to the photographer's wet tongue beneath her, to be replaced by Roberta's devastatingly firm hand, her digits were strong against the wet flesh. Circling her swollen button, first slowly, then moving almost viciously fast, her legs shook and her eyes heaved. The smell of cigarette coming from her palm invaded her sense of smell the moment her hand held her neck, first delicately, as if testing the pale flesh, Agnes melted into a loud moan at the double stimulus, and Roberta squeezed a little harder. When the photographer's urgent mouth crushed hers, a mist of pleasure caught in her agitated head, her hips already seemed to have acquired a powerful rhythm against the woman's strong hand, pushing with each new round of indulgent impulses. I think you have been needing a woman to put some limits on you. She said and Agnes moaned her name out loud, the sound of dangerous fingers being rubbed vigorously against her demanding pussy was mind-boggling, her breathing felt increasingly heavy and all she could do was think of the exorbitant amount of pleasure running through her. blood.

"Roberta ..." she whimpered. "Please." She asked, softly, her heart beating fast enough to ring against her ears.

"Just ask, dear." Looking into her eyes, Agnes could see the fire consumed taking possession of her skin as a ritual. Each of her demons walking with leashes directly held by this powerful woman, with her delicious fingers and her addictive kiss.

"Let me come." She confessed, thrusting her angled fingers through her golden hair and touching her sweaty foreheads. Her body felt so good, her limbs could float in oxygen and break the barriers of gravity, but it was just enough to burn and burn and not explode, Roberta's movements were rhythmic and torturous against her swollen sex. "Please let me come." She begged, lowering her tongue to the seam of her lips that tasted like alcohol. Roberta dug strong digits into the pointed bone of her lean hip and increased the speed of her movements, this time lava burned her stomach and poured herself against her legs. The discharge of pleasure covered her senses, like a thick fog covering her vision and preventing her from breathing. Agnes moaned long as her legs trembled, and let her exhausted body fall directly against the soft cloth-covered shoulder. The blonde slid warm palms against her spine, kissing her bare shoulder and stroking her sweaty strands. When Agnes rolled back onto the cold mattress in contrast to her warm body, her eyes burned and her bones looked like porridge. After a minute, peering with one eye, she casually aimed at Roberta scanning her stretched body with long, long thoughts.

"Come back to me." She asked, touching her bare leg. The photographer offered her a beautiful smile and stretched out beside her, intertwining her legs and running a thumb against her face.

"I'm right here." She lied, and Agnes knew, but remained silent about it. Instead of asking him the problem, the brunette stretched her hand to her golden hair and combed the straight strands away from the sculpted face, eyes closed and absolute silence bathed the dark room. Later, Agnes asked the older one if she would like to sleep alone and Roberta didn't open her eyes when she released a soft one: Why would I want something like this? And Agnes didn't know what to answer, a billion questions seemed to bubble up inside her tight brain, yet her mouth was still closed. I would like you to stay by my side, sleep with me and let me enjoy your Agnes company. That's all I want. And Agnes' brain turned into a silent island, as if everything was just as simple as it could be. Her eyes became heavy, and her body was filled with dense sleep. Mixed in a mess of legs and arms on the big bed with pearly sheets.

The next day Agnes woke up with soft kisses being slid against the bare skin of her legs, rising slowly up her thighs and down her spine. Roberta pinned the flesh on the back of her neck with sharp teeth, and licked it behind her right ear, whispering one: Good morning, my dear. And the girl realized that she could wake up with the voice trailing in her ear every day, as well as the disturbing vision of the whiskey-colored eyes. Roberta didn't say anything about the previous night at the shared breakfast, just as she didn't spare her gentle smiles and light conversation. Roberta didn't say anything about the previous night when she showed each of her project books, dedicatedly telling each story and her inspirations, letting Agnes ask as many questions as she wanted and punctuating her favorite photos. Roberta didn't say anything about the night before when she dropped the photo book in Egypt anywhere just to steal her breath with an unexpected kiss, holding her face and tasting her taste. Roberta didn't say anything about the previous night when she praised the colors of her part of the project, commenting that the photograph would look much more beautiful that way, much more beautiful than the original and Agnes denied it, but Roberta kissed her lips and she decided not protest about that. Roberta didn't say anything about the previous night when she suggested they watch a movie made by her student, stretched out on the comfortable sofa, trapped in each other's body. The woman made sure to answer each of her questions about the composition of the scenario, and the means used for the purposes. When Agnes woke up the house smelled like shrimp, and it didn't take much research to find Roberta dancing in the kitchen with pots and a glass of dry wine against her soft lips. Roberta almost let the food burn when she lost herself in Agnes' delicious caresses behind her, dragging feather lips against her exposed nape and whispering all the delicious things she would like to do with her. After turning off and covering the stainless steel pots, the older one allowed her body to be pushed to the nearest sofa and smiled when an anxious Agnes straddled her with a hungry mouth and a thigh being pressed hard against her sex. Roberta also didn't say anything about the night before when they ended the day, again, spread out against each other.

Roberta never said anything to Agnes about the night in question, and over time, Agnes learned that she would not speak. It turns out that what was a weekend turned into more days, then an entire week, until Agnes noticed that she was barely stepping into her small apartment. Her new routine was much more exciting, when she left early she ran to the bus stop and enjoyed the short trip to the gated community on the other side. The porter had already been well instructed to, absolutely never, prevent her passing. The man with the white mustache was always kind when he allowed her access. Using her key, the girl entered the empty house and breathed in the familiar smell, taking a relaxing bath or deciding to soak in flower essences in the round bathtub, she had the house for herself, the studio for herself and anything she needed. At first it had been difficult, getting used to having full access, drawers and important documents. After Roberta gives you a very firm look when I find you doing your final job in the garden, and say words like: If I find you studying in the serene again, I will find an architect and turn this into your own space. Agnes was horrified by his tone and surrendered to the comfortable, material-filled space. It was nice to have a large room to walk and look at your screens from afar, to have unlimited resources and a woman with sweet comments. When she left very late she could walk to the photography department, greet the elegant short-haired secretary and ask to be announced. A busy Roberta would welcome her, lips glued to her cell phone and tailored pants grabbing her turned legs. Give me a minute, dear. She would say, capping her cell phone and going back to sit in her presidential chair, Agnes liked to lie on the small chic leather sofa and face the powerful woman barking arguments at some member of the rectory, talking about the department's interests or the delay of some. handbag. She also liked to browse the bookshelves with curiosity and occasionally blow her warm breath on the exposed head of the head, leaving perhaps a warm kiss and a silent promise against her skin, in those moments Roberta always gave her an arched brow and kissed the palm of his hand. And after a full minute, the woman hung up on her and pulled Agnes to her in a longing kiss: Get me out of this terrible place, dear. I am exhausted. Hand in hand they would leave the college empty, dark corridors, with complicit looks to the parking lot. Personally, Agnes preferred these days. And not the ones where she needed to face the large rooms smelled of loneliness, when Roberta was too busy with paperwork or on a trip to a congress outside the city.

Even in sync, things were not a bed of roses.

There were those days, the days when Agnes noticed that Roberta's tone was too cold over the phone, or that she didn't kiss him goodbye when she left the house. The days when Agnes wondered if there was another woman in her thoughts when Roberta didn't sleep with her in bed, or when she watched his dedicated smile for one of his hardworking students. There were those days when Agnes needed to call her psychologist on emergency calls, explaining the sharp sensation of loneliness pricking her body and the angry dose of self-pity running through her veins. In those days Agnes remained irritable during the long hours, refusing all calls from Roberta and resolving to take the public transport home, silently entering the door and walking up the stairs with teary eyes. In those days Agnes feels reduced to ashes and shame. Choosing not to meet Roberta's distressed eyes hanging from a work call at the bottom of the stairs, she also chose not to share the bed with the woman, sinking into fat tears and soft sobs in the cold guest room. Roberta also learned to act these days, ending her appointments as quickly as possible and ending any meeting when she watches Agnes enter the door shaking in her own world, she knows that very little is in her reach these days, so Roberta always prepares a tea strong chamomile with honey and enters the guest room minutes later. Leaving the warm cup on the empty dresser, kissing the sleeping student's feverish temple and always whispering one: You have me, dear. I am entirely yours and no one else's, believe it for me. Before covering the shrunken body, she turns off the yellow lamp and leaves the room with silent steps. Roberta never sleeps away from Agnes, but she understands that you need to give her space on days like these.

But there are also days when all feelings of self-pity and depression become liquid rage in your blood, chest and legs tingling and your brain begging for a fight, Roberta has learned to identify when those moments happen. So when a bubbling Agnes enters her personal office, glassy eyes and bleeding lips, she knows it will be one of these days. With her assistant's rigid voice in her ear, the director quickly ends the call and gives her young companion a questioning look. What happened, my dear? And when the artist arches her pretty dark eyebrows, Roberta wants to laugh at her expression, but she knows that this is not a good time.

"Do you think I'm your prostitute?" Of course, Roberta thinks wryly. After many of these situations and some study, she discovered that obsessive behaviors also have order, and looking for a fight was a mandatory requirement in Agnes' rule glass. The point was that Roberta understood her explosive impulse, the girl suppressed her vicious extinct day after day and it accumulated like a bomb, until the time that everything exploded and she became a small rocket. Roberta also knows exactly how to get around the situation, she knows that she never needed more than a hard look and a little more firm words to dispel the supposed hatred stuck in her eyes.

"What is there that makes you think that way, my dear?" The woman launches, organizing some documents for her meeting next week.

"Why the hell did you pay off my student loan?" Her eyes were burning as they moved over the headmistress, dilated pupils and wheezing. Roberta always found her stunning and sensual in these situations, but she would never confess such things to him. Money was always the subject of a fight, Agnes was more proud than her eyes and hated the common way that Roberta was willing to spend her money on you. "Is this your payment to fuck me?"

"I believe this is too few to fuck you, dear." She slid down, calmly pushing her chair back and letting her tired torso fall against the upholstery, folding her hands and waiting for the next movement of her little flaming rocket.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Roberta?" She punctuated, her teeth clenched and her jaw clenched, the young woman pushed her hands against the waxed wood of the table and a smile almost escaped the principal's lips. "I don't need your fucking money, keep it to yourself." She announced, leaning forward on the dark table. Her chest rising and falling against the tight mesh. "Or do you think I'm your private slut?" And that is the point, the very point where Agnes is no longer and her unhealthy discharge of energy, is her obsession talking about herself. It is at that moment that Roberta realizes that the games are on the floor and her posture needs to change or that will become an infernal monologue of Agnes ratifying her insecurities. The photographer leans forward with her back straight and offers her partner a stern look, pressing her lips together and holding her chin with her thumb and forefinger.

"Listen carefully, Agnes, I'm not trying to buy you. I'm not trying to use my money to own you, I don't need to do this, and I don't want to reduce ourselves to something so vulgar." Roberta's tone is professional, hard as steel. "If you continue to offend us like that, I will be deeply disappointed. Forgive me if my gesture sounded so bad in your ears, it was never my intention to offend you, but I fear that deep down this is your self-destructive behavior trying to sabotage my actions." Agnes fell silent, the color left her face and her breathing became even more agitated. "Now, if you can't offer me anything other than your offenses, I'm going to ask you to leave my office and allow me to get back to my work, which I just stopped to listen to each of your insults carefully." Roberta always knew how to have hands of steel, to use each word sharp enough to reduce her hatred in liquid guilt and bring it back to reality. "Hello? Okay, I'm listening. Please continue where we left off." She explained on the phone, struggling not to show her wounded heart while ignoring an agnes hardened against her desk. Roberta also knew that she would leave the room in the next minute, eyes bright with thick tears and warm steps against the wooden floor. It had been days and days like these, in the beginning the words really hurt, hurt and made the photographer try to look for any small gesture that could indicate that type of speech, it was only later, that she realized that it didn't matter the context, when Agnes exploded , anything was gunpowder. And all she needed in a situation like that was a harsh word and the reminder that her words could hurt, even if they didn't do it anymore, Agnes needed to be aware of that. After finishing each of the pending papers, trying to keep out of her mind every thought destroying that the young artist was cultivating on herself, Roberta took her time climbing the stairs, diving into the warm water of her porcelain bathtub and staying there for long minutes. Giving time to time had always been one of her virtues, so when she relaxed against her comfortable sheets and let sleep walk over to her, Roberta knew she needed to let Agnes fight her battles alone, and look for it when she could understand the value of her actions. When the door opened slowly between two and three in the morning, with unsteady steps on the cold floor and sliding between the warm sheets and directly into the warm arms of the woman he adored, Agnes was a tiny reduction in guilt and reflection. Roberta was always ready to welcome the student's soft body and turbulent mind, blinking with uncertain eyes in the impending darkness and kissing her wet lips.

"I didn't want to hurt you, I don't feel like a prostitute." She whispers, her voice fighting the menacing silence of the room. "I just don't like you spending your money on me that way, I feel reduced to one of your purchases." She explains, hooking her restless legs.

"You can always share your views on my actions, my dear." The blonde comments, kissing the seam of her full lips. "This is what a relationship is, two people who make mistakes trying to get it right. What I can't stand is that you offend my actions based on your assumptions."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The girl repeated, kissing her lips once and twice and three times. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you, I adore you so much." She explained, soft as a feather and Roberta had to admit that she loved this part, when her mate seemed to wake up from a fervent nightmare and returned to her arms with gentle lips and sweet words whispered in the cold of the morning.

"I know, my dear." She knew, she was aware that those situations came in the package. "It's done, past is past." She announces, putting an end to the sensitive subject.

The bad days were few, they were painful and sometimes got out of hand. There have been days where Roberta had to leave the house with teary eyes and drive through the cities for hours and hours, thinking about the damn words that Agnes had shouted to herself and how long they had been kept. Roberta knew what she was getting into when she started that relationship, knew addictions and knew everything about them, knew that getting hurt and hurting others was a consequence of Agnes' constant obsessive thoughts, yet it was no less painful when the girl was always so kind put its claws out and set off for the confrontation. Roberta was a woman with rules, with strong emotional control and an impassive face, yet she was aware of the great age difference that existed in this relationship. The day Agnes opened her pretty mouth to say something like: I'm just a damn toy for your existential crisis, Roberta. When you get tired of me I'll be left with nothing. Roberta had to recover from the thud, the suffocating sensation in her chest, the sob squeezed in her throat. It was on that day that she practically ran to her car and drove almost two hours in circles around the city, wondering what the hell she was doing to make that woman think of herself, that she would abandon her, change her, that she was an adventure and a toy. Roberta also read many books on the subject, asked Agnes daily what was going on in her head and learned, little by little, to get used to those episodes.

But Agnes and her episodes were not the only conflicting situations between them. It turns out that Roberta is a gentle and sweet woman, yet the woman can be a sharp and icy sword when she wishes. Putting her work above anything and acting almost indifferently when she needs it, walking around the house as if Agnes just doesn't exist and going days without giving her a second of her time. In those days Agnes feels like a prostitute, only wanted for sex and presented with expensive things to replace the teacher's cold absence. There were no differences between them, Agnes said things to hurt and Roberta did things to hurt, eventually they were the same. It was on a rainy Thursday that it happened, Roberta had spent exactly ten days at a conference abroad, reducing Agnes to a couple of messages and tiny text messages. The day she arrived and was, of course, straight to the university, Agnes asked for a break from her research project and ran home in order to take a long cold shower and make a small welcome surprise. There was that expensive Greek restaurant that the director had told her a million times, the young woman did a lot of overtime on her internship to save enough money and called for days on end to get a reservation, chose that elegant coral dress with thin straps , along with that white scarf that Roberta had given her as a gift. Agnes even wore red lipstick, she only used strong lipsticks on very special occasions. Underneath the tight dress was that black lace set that she had separated. When she arrived in the university hallway, there were many looks for herself, she felt hot in all the right places and couldn't wait to hear Roberta's reaction to her surprise.

"She's seeing a student, Agnes." The secretary announced, after giving her a very kind compliment.

"Can you inform me that I'm waiting?" The woman nodded and entered the office with heavy doors. When she left, she said that she would come in a minute. Agnes felt more anxious than ever, shaking her feet nervously and biting her painted lips. But when Roberta came through the wooden doors, her hair down and a long-sleeved black dress covering her body, her face looked as hard as ice.

"Agnes, whatever it is, I don't have time now." She said, passing a handful of papers to her secretary and barely looking at the elegantly dressed woman waiting for her.

"But you just got back, I thought we could ..." Agnes tried, her voice losing its luster.

"I have an important student in the Agnes class, I don't have time now." Of course, thought the girl. She learned very quickly that Roberta's students were everything to her, her problems automatically became her top priority.

"You at least are looking at me, Roberta!" The young woman exclaimed, her voice breaking. When the director of the photography department put her eyes on him, furiously cold, Agnes regretted all stupid surprise.

"Am I looking now, satisfied? I don't have time now Agnes, I really don't have any damn time now." She replied, her voice cold as ice and her eyes almost indifferent.

"Of course, again I was stupidly stupid. Forgive me for taking up so much of your precious time, Mrs. Medeiros." Roberta hated being called that way by Agnes, she hated every syllable. So when the girl left the little blue-card-wrapped package on the reception desk and hurried back to the corridors, Roberta remained staring at the door with frightened eyes. The present in question was an analog camera Olympus Trip thirty-five, the teacher had been hunting that device all over the city to do a new project, apparently Agnes had noticed, even though they had never talked about it. There was also that note with the reservation at the Greek restaurant, and a small hand painted in black ink: If I could photograph you now, you would know that my heart beats just for you. When she returned to her office, Roberta had shaking hands and a sore head.

Agnes didn't undress when she came home, sneaking into the cold bed in the guest room and dropping a bottle of wine alone with her own demons and slow music. The girl fell asleep with red-stained lips and wearing that sensual black lace ensemble, puffy eyes and aching chest. What Agnes did not know was that a very upset Roberta came home that night, still trembling as she climbed the stairs hoping for any existing god who might have a chance to repair it, when the woman arrived and saw the beautiful body of the young woman stretched between clean sheets, his chest felt calmer. Still, she didn't feel worthy of sharing a bed with Agnes that night, so she reduced herself to shedding very small tears on the doorstep, pressing the wrapped box to her chest and shivering like she never did before. Agnes never knew that Roberta sobbed for herself while she slept softly, that she repeated: I love you, forgive me. I love you, I love you so much, I feel so dear. Please don't leave me, I love you so much. For more than an hour, to leave a loving kiss against her hair and leave the room with silent steps. Agnes never knew that the first time Roberta said she loved her she was sleeping, Agnes also never knew that Roberta spent the whole night sitting in front of her room holding the gift against her chest.

Still, the bad days were very few compared to the quiet days they spent curled up for hours, dancing in the middle of unfinished screens and moaning their names in the midst of naked bodies. In some crazy way, they seemed to sing the same melody in different rhythms, not completing each other and much less sounding the same. Roberta was kind and careful almost every day, dedicating her time and all of her best kisses to Agnes. Agnes was careful and seductive almost every day, always looking for the older woman around the house to rub her paint-streaked face on the target neck and smile with the familiar feeling pricking her bones. There was that deep, warm feeling of belonging, shared by both. It was beautiful, it was lazy and intense. Like when they were at an event and with just a shared look from opposite ends, they just knew, knew that as soon as it was over they could curl up in each other and there would only be the rhythmic sound of their hearts in the voracious silence of the big house.

So it was like being shot in the head when Agnes found out.


	4. Equals

It was already December when it happened, the cold weather highlighting the beautiful night and the decorated ballroom. The annual celebration of the university team was a tradition, it happened every year and all students knew about it. It was like a royal event, the teachers invited their peers and the few lucky students who got an invitation from their mentors used that party to arrange sponsors for their research. Roberta insisted on that for days, repeatedly asking that Agnes not let her participate in that tedious event alone. After a few fake smiles and shy looks, Roberta found two projects that she would like to sponsor and collected the number of students to contact them later. When she was close to ten, the teacher said that she would go to the toilet and on the way back they could sneak out of that terrible place. Agnes smiled and thanked him gently, walking over to the drinks table to get another glass of wine.

"So, are you one of those who know or one of those who don't?" When the female voice ran down to her ears, Agnes considered having drunk too much. She stared at the blue eyes like the sky and the black hair pinned with pearl clips.

"Sorry, did you talk to me?" She asked, dropping the cup back on the tray.

"Okay, you're one of those who don't know. Forget it." And she turned in her long royal blue dress to leave her company.

"Wait, I know what?" The pink color of her flushed cheeks disappeared, her arm froze at the exact moment Agnes grabbed her wrist, her bones looked as if they were made of ice and steel. "I know what?" She repeated, impatient. The girl's frightened blue eyes in front of her were glazed over, desperately delicate and cloudy, but before she could open and close her mouth again, a female hand landed on her left shoulder.

"Agnes, forgive my advisor, we miscalculated some things." The woman had short auburn hair tied in a badly made bun, coppery strands tumbling down her pale face, and watchful eyes. "How are you?" She asked, taking a step forward and giving a soft kiss against her left cheek. Agnes didn't know that the director of her own department would be at that party, Simone had never been one of those women who had fun at events like this, always preferring to stay in her old office when facing a conference. Still, Agnes's skin was tingling across the pale face of her teacher's protected young woman.

"Simone, I really don't understand." The student explained, rubbing her hands in a clear sign of nervousness.

"I don't think it's up to any of us to tell you about it, I love you, but it's not fair." Suddenly, the woman's words seemed to be in another language, like little syllables being thrown in the cold wind. Agnes could not understand, no plausible explanation was available to her.

"Simone, you're scaring me." She confessed, taking a long breath and grabbing a glass full of burgundy wine, turning it over in her tight mouth and feeling the fierce alcohol eating away at her palate.

"Christ! Come on, let's go for a walk." Simone had been her first advisor, the only woman in the entire arts department who welcomed her project with photographs and indicated that her creativity could move heaven and earth. It was also Simone who put her in charge of the research group, who helped her get a scholarship for her medical expenses, and it was for Simone that Agnes ran when she was in trouble. The woman was always serious and delicate, her blond-haired husband was such a polite man and together, they were true parents for the entire department. Even though everyone knew that the woman was making light escapes with some young girls in the department, no one ever talked about it. "See, I really didn't expect that from you, as I said earlier, we miscalculated." She started, turning the old gold ring on her ring finger and sitting on the wooden bench. Agnes remained standing. "Roberta is one of the teachers who has been at the house the longest, everyone knows about hers ..." Her dark eyes wandered from her student to the badly maintained lawn. "Addictions."

"What kind of addiction?" Agnes knew about the endless cigarettes, the daily shots of whiskey without ice and the animal hunger in his paperwork.

"Roberta has this manipulative way of dealing with people. It is impossible to distinguish what is an order from what is a request, she has everything, absolutely everything to dominate someone's life." A convertible car passed with tires screeching over the asphalt and the student considered sitting on the curb. "And she does that, she always dominates people's lives, with money, with gifts, with her words and with her presence."

"Why are you telling me this?" Deep down, deep down, Agnes knew that. She damn well knew everything, but chose to look the other way and pretend she didn't see. But now, hearing it being poured out in front of her like vomit, it was impossible not to glue her eyes to the green goo glued to her shoes.

"Because you are not the first Agnes, the entire faculty sees this film every year, always a new girl." Simone did not meet her eyes when she ran both hands through her thin hair. "Some know, are aware of the perverse dynamics and accept money, affection and everything that Roberta can offer you." It was so clear, transparent and translucent. Crystalline water falling right in front of her eyes, the sweet words, the orders coated with affection, the expensive gifts and the calculated touches. Of course, of course it was not the first time. Roberta mastered the art of manipulation very well to be the first time she did it, so obvious, so sad. "But when she goes, she leaves nothing but destruction. We've seen this movie before, Agnes. Girls who stop being sunbeams and become nebulous creatures sneaking through the corridors, having everything and then having nothing, is cruel."

Agnes calculated in millimeter how many steps he could take towards his old apartment, how many cards he would need to take to completely erase, how many baths he would need to take to clean his skin of all the remnants of his touch, how many days he would need to spend sleeping to forget that that woman existed, how many times you would need to brush your teeth to erase your taste and especially, how many times you would need to die to delete that feeling inside your chest. "Agnes?" Simone was touching her shoulder, tightening her loose hair and giving her a look of compassion. "I'm sorry, it really isn't up to me to talk about it. We thought you were making it conscious."

"Why the hell would I do that consciously, Simone?" He raged, Simone had never seen him scream before, bright tears staining his makeup face.

"For the opportunity, for the money, for the feeling? I don't know, I don't really know, I'm sorry." Her advisor tried to capture her face again, Agnes staggered backward barely feeling her legs and arms. "Let me get some water, you need to calm down."

"I need to go home." The student said, taking firm steps towards the curb.

"Let me give you a ride, I just need to get my keys." The teacher tried, but the girl was already walking in long steps through the busy concierge and falling into the dark street.

It turns out that life can be a box of surprises, a small box with long transparent glass walls and a spacious bed full of blank pages, so that in the next minute, acid rain will destroy absolutely everything that was once beautiful. Falling to the ground everything that was once standing, falling and falling and splintering and melting and turning into dust. Agnes walked for almost an hour, avoiding dark streets and crossing unknown avenues while deliberately ignoring each of the damn calls that continued to make her phone vibrate. After feeling her feet hurt as if she were stepping on glass, the girl chose to sit on the parking lot of a small pharmacy, an elderly man asked if she could help and she informed him that she needed to make a call. Her psychologist number took two attempts for her to finally answer, her voice sounding concerned on the other end of the line. Where are you, Agnes? Roberta is trying to contact you. The girl felt a sob cut through her jugular when she heard that name, even after a thousand baths, her name would still twist her body into a tiny piece of paper. I'm in a pharmacy, can you please pick me up? I do not know what to do. The woman asked her not to move and the line went silent, her device vibrated again with Roberta's number shining against her screen. Reduced to pieces of glass, she hugged her knee and tried not to cry every time she remembered the warm sensation of his hand on her epidermis. It was much worse than an addiction, it was much worse than being obsessed, it was a much deeper hole, it was an uncertain step on a broken escalator, hoping it wouldn't fall. Agnes tried, in vain, not to brood every time she thought she had found happiness, only to see it taken away from her with a slight roar. Her chest sank when the kind man handed her a bottle of cold water, murmuring that she looked like she was having a bad day. Agnes drank the cold liquid with an uncomfortable numbness, and thanked him with a sad smile.

It didn't take more than ten minutes for a well-known Audi to park on the front of the establishment and Agnes considered getting up and running away, but his hot head was too confused to have thought about it, his psychologist would obviously call Roberta and give her location. When the director got out of the vehicle, covered by the cold wind into the night, tucked in a navy blue dress and her hair tied up. Agnes thought she could keep that vision forever, to comfort her on difficult days and always remember that exact moment when everything went up in smoke. The woman stopped in front of him, lips tight and curious eyes. Let's go dear.

The girl wanted to scream, wanted to scream, wanted to throw herself on the busy avenue and get hit by a truck. Still, she got up in pain and rejected the delicate hand held out to her, announced one: Don't fucking call me darling. And she took firm steps towards the cold car, tightening her belt and withdrawing into a tiny ball of suffering and anguish. The path was made in absolute silence, Roberta tried to meet her eyes at each red light, her fingers felt tight around the leather steering wheel and Agnes had never seen the director so restless, driving at high speed while she clearly ignored the traffic lanes . When she saw the gated community, the girl cried again, stifling her sobs with her hands and scolding her own tears. On the day when the student met Roberta she thought the world was smiling at her, meeting someone so kindly interesting that she offered her time and cordial conversation, which gave her sneaky smiles and an almost inspiring feeling. Now, stuffing her clothes into her forgotten jeans bag, she wondered how cruel someone could be.

How cruel could Roberta be? Choosing her with fingers, looking for the most broken girl in the department just to keep your personal hunt more intense? Agnes wondered how many days she spent studying him, how many times she reread her file, how much time she would have spent calculating all that damn plan of damn conquest, in the end, leaving her with nothing. Roberta had given her everything she didn't know she needed, the support, the teaching, the gentle touches and warm presence. Suddenly, the idea of being alone in her apartment became immensely empty, after so many months of sharing the bed with skilled fingers in her leather hair and whiskey eyes chasing her in the living room. Agnes was obsessed, of course she was, Roberta made a point of becoming the air she breathes. And now, there was no more oxygen, no lungs, no airways, everything was gone. The girl was almost startled when she sobbed loudly, the squeaky sound stretching against her tight throat, her legs failed and her body hit the floor with a thud, the noise echoed through the empty house. Shattered, Agnes grabbed her backpack and called herself stupid, liquid despair covering her eyes. The sound of her skull hitting the wall behind her was frightening, once, twice and three times, until the door was practically smashed open by the handle. The young artist did not have to look up to recognize the delicate steps, the woody scent and the soft tinkling of the lemon slice sunk in the round crystal glass. Of course, she thought, the director of the photography department would run to see her work of art, see someone else's world shatter, fall apart, it was her final photograph. Her human project, right in front of you, miserably reduced to dust. Don't get hurt like that, honey. The blonde announced, her scent seemed to burn, hot fire reaching her nostrils. Agnes didn't see her movement, just felt the soft drumming of her phalanx against the top of her head, in order to get her away from the wall. Sore, she disengaged herself from the seemingly gentle touch, pushed her head back to the wall and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands, to no avail.

"Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me." She announced, pressing her lips together in a line so hard that it hurt, broke a piece of dehydrated skin. Roberta was startled by his tone, rising slowly and sitting on the edge of the bed they used to share.

"You need to listen to me, it's not fair to take the wrong view of me without knowing my version." If Agnes could kick, she would say that she had never seen the photographer so upset. Her bare feet, her messy hair, her shaking hands and the way her breath showed that this was definitely not her first glass. Her chest burned when she saw her lose some control, Roberta never dealt well with frustrations and apparently having discovered her plan had gone wrong.

"So that you can manipulate me again?" The painter exclaimed, between teeth. A trickle of blood ran down the bruised flesh on her lower lip, the metallic taste was nailed inside her palate. "What do you want now? A photo? Do you want to expose me in your exhibition, you cruel little experiment Roberta?" And even though it hurt, the older woman seemed willing to let her vent all her hatred at once. She always did. Unlike Agnes, Roberta had superhuman patience to deal with, waiting slowly while everything in her head was materialized on her vocal cords. "Tell me, you chose me on purpose, didn't you? Poor girl with obsessive behavior to make your fucking game more interesting?" If her psychologist could see her now, she would sign the term of her hospitalization in a heartbeat. Her hands seemed to shake like never before, the base of her neck throbbed and burned, as did her blurry eyes and dry throat. Her body reacted badly to stressful situations, scraps and pieces falling all over the place, in the end, there would be pieces too small to be glued together.

"How could you be so cruel?" And this time, it was silence and maybe, it was even worse. Agnes had never heard her voice break as it shattered, visibly shattered, a glass bowl shattering against the white tile floor. "How could you be so cruel as to break a person who is already broken?" And there was that moment, that minute when apparently the world stops spinning, engages in one of her movements and everything is silence. Everything emptied, broke and became a black immensity. Even if she wanted to, Agnes was never able to decode the expressions on her mate's face, even now, when tears wet her navy blue bust, she couldn't say what the other was feeling.

"I never chose you to break you, Agnes." Roberta said, after a long moment of silence. Her voice seemed almost inaudible, the glass cup left on the beige dresser, the scent of whiskey running through the room, now narrowly small.

"So why did you choose me, Roberta?" Even if she wasn't ready, not at all, for her questioning answer. Agnes wanted the truth, at least damn it.

"Because you could, more than anyone, understand me." And the weeping returned, a hard sting blurring her vision as the ice consumed her stomach. "Because you and I are the same." When Agnes was diagnosed in her condition, she hated herself so deeply, that she was never able to admire herself in the mirror again. She learned to live with her every impulse, sweeping her self-pity under the rug and choosing to look elsewhere. Agnes learned to hate her impulses, to hate her way of loving, to hate every one of her obsessive thoughts.

Except when she was with Roberta, because with Roberta she was just Agnes. Agnes with her good and bad days, her intentions, sensations, and sometimes, her explosive fury. But the young woman never felt ashamed of her actions, judged by her decisions or less than anyone, for Roberta, she was just Agnes.

"I have certainly done things that I am not proud of in the past, and I have no intention of justifying myself about them for you." Even close, Agnes felt a sea away from her voice. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't even mean to get involved with you. It was inevitable, because dealing with your compulsions, it's also dealing with mine." The sky was placid when Roberta walked towards her, measured steps and sunken eyes, stopping a few meters away and touching her hair. "So when I say I love, I love and I love you, I'm not manipulating you, I'm clarifying what makes me feel. I never intended to leave you, or hurt you, I never intended to play with you or your feelings." She was so familiar and yet so different, the soft touch on her face. The familiar smell of the recent cigarette, the amber eyes always so concerned as they searched for any expression in their lines. "I am a selfish woman, my dear, you are aware of that. And I have always needed to be loved selfishly, you gave it to me. So when I give you exactly what you need, I am giving you exactly what you offer me. "

"I dont understand." She lied, of course she did, letter by letter. She didn't want to see it, couldn't bear to see it.

"Agnes, you need someone to give away everything you have. Someone to be obsessed with, someone who is everything and when you need it, be nothing." Roberta's smile was almost liquid, almost fragile. "You need someone who knows your breaking point, the moment when you must be kept alone with your demons to fight, and the moment where you need salvo. You need to fight and you need to have a reason to fight. You need someone entirely for you, and I gave you exactly what you need. " The terrified look on her face died, slid like blood against the wet skin. "And I need someone who needs me, entirely. I need you to be obsessed with me." Finally, the director of the photography department pulled away completely, pulling her blond hair just a second before taking a deep breath. Agnes had never seen him so naked, without skin, without bones and without eyes. A scary figure walking on the icy floor. "I was completely stupid to take you to that event, but I would be lying if I said I planned to tell you about it. You can go if you want to go, take what you want, decree me dead if you want." Retrieving the abandoned glass with the lonely sloppy slice of lemon, and walking back to the door. "Please leave the copy of the key in my office."

•••

When you have the chance to look at yourself, finally, clearly. It's like looking into a demon's eyes, like having the science of rot on your skin for the first time. It is from defects that we are constituted, from the immoral desire to hurt and sometimes to destroy. Agnes knew that her way of loving was cruel, hurtful and destructive. His thirst for possessing people was raw, craving every last drop of his features, a vampire sucking his soul until there was nothing left but the withered skin between his teeth. She knew that she hurt, that she hurt, that she burned. She was aware that Roberta would come out of her fights in pain, from the countless times that she entered her office exploding like fire, even impassive, Agnes spoke to hurt, deep down, she wanted to test. It was all a damn test, how much the older woman could take, how much of herself she could take, how far she would go. Roberta never denied any step forward in the sea of acid in her soul, not once, even when her skin became pureblood and her eyes were pierced with her words. Because in some way, Roberta was the only one who understood her, all of her mistakes, each of her self-destructive tests and behaviors. There is no miracle cure, there is a huge path with curves and declines and long hours of therapy, understanding and then caring. When the pearly light of the doctor's office shone against her eyes, Agnes squeezed her eyelids and crossed her linen-covered legs. Apparently you were in a tight spot this week Agnes, do you want to start there? Her psychologist always held that little white-lined notebook against her, a pointed pen and glasses, and a round frame on the tip of her nose. The girl was never able to describe her reaction to her, she felt like she was in purgatory, or sitting on the dock. I discovered that Roberta also has compulsive behaviors, behaviors different from mine. The woman silently let the sentence unfold on her tongue, asking her what it had made her feel. Fear. Her psychologist's black hair waved against the breeze invading the office, when she questioned her feeling. Why I thought I should cultivate fear of people like me. The woman scored that one, but Agnes had already lost the affliction in her chest when it happened, she kept asking if she didn't think so anymore. No, I don't think they should cultivate fear of people with compulsive behaviors.

"So you're not afraid of Roberta's compulsive behaviors?"

"Not."

"And yours?"

"Yes."

"And what's the difference between them, Agnes?"

"Because I love Roberta, but I'm not sure I feel the same way about myself."

•••

The very minute that the door to her office broke, Roberta failed to hold her own impulses, swore to herself that she would take one last look at the young student who captured her heart, before seeing her go. Instead, she remained staring painfully into the glass window, hoping that without seeing her, her chest would throb less. Roberta was a woman with order in her life, rules and schedules, but now, she could send all her planning to hell if it gave her a few more days with that woman. Being next to her was a balm, it was sweet and gentle, it was sailing on a crystal clear and peaceful river. The photographer had never had that opportunity, everything in her life was a sea of warm and murky waters, until Agnes and her colorful lake rest against her life and change her course. Now, besides her job, nothing was more important than the sweet girl. She killed herself by working in her office, only to be able to leave early on Friday, prepare an appropriate dinner and feel her skin tingle to curl up against her dark hair and drawn lips. The prospect of not returning home and finding a luscious, confused or melancholy ink Agnes, was almost to languish, almost to lose his mind and give in to the precipice of madness. Roberta did not move a muscle when she heard the slow steps, the rustle of clothes and the well-known floral scent. She wanted to turn around and find out if she would take everything, if she would leave anything, a dirty shirt, a used scarf or a hair on her pillow. Anything Roberta could anchor herself on during the difficult days. But before the headmistress could sink into that drunken, lonely fantasy of her future, her breath hitched in gear when soft arms encircled her hips and a cold nose touched the side of her neck. I love, love and love you. Do not leave me. The painter whispered, warm tears touching her epidermis. This time there was no self-control or steel pulse, this time Roberta was nothing but a desperate woman stricken with fear of alleged loss, she couldn't bear it, couldn't bear having everything and then having nothing.

For the first time, she got a taste of her own poison. And she shivered, knocked the glass of whiskey in half, breaking into pieces on the freshly waxed floor and grabbed Agnes with urgent hands and tears in her eyes. My dear, if you leave me, I will not know what to do. She confessed, pasting her foreheads. And Agnes understood, for the first time in her life, she understood the despair and madness that it was to love and be loved. Be wanted, desired and cared for.

In a way as destructively similar as hers, and I knew, it wasn't fear, it was recognition.

That night Agnes and Roberta slept on the soft couch in the personal office, wrapped in a jumble of arms and legs and words loose in the wind. The next day it was Agnes who initiated a long and enlightening conversation, hands crossed and an upright column while informing his companion that the situation could have been resolved more easily, Roberta held a playful smile throughout her speech and waited for the younger to finish his argument. Don't hide anything from me, ever again. The director of the department indicated that she had her word, and after a long minute of stare, it was also Agnes who gently took her from her chair and crossed the table, shoulders hunched and looking hungry. Swiveling the presidential chair with her soft hands and facing Roberta patiently leaning on her seat, the girl flattened her lips against the principal's, unlike the night before, her caress hid many other intentions. And how do you want me now? She questioned, sliding curious digits against her dress-clad breasts and tight thighs. On your knees, my dear.

As mentioned before, Roberta and Agnes sang the same song in different melodies, and this is true. But there were some days, where the melody of both seemed almost the same. As on the day of the exhibition of Roberta's new photography project, the vernissage had been marked in the same place where the first one had been, with the difference that this time, Agnes took an Uber to reach the place. She ended up so deep in her research papers that she lost her time, running down the halls of the university and receiving a soft: Don't go down the stairs, from your advisor. Apparently Simone had been guided into a long and exhausting conversation with Roberta, where they both spoke more than a few insults to each other, but in the end, Simone still gave acid comments about Roberta and the photographer lived to criticize her projects. The entrance to the commercial gallery was lit up, some large cars and one of Roberta's students listed the guests. Unlike the first time, the elegant woman did not have to check her name, instead she was greeted with a cordial: Good evening, Miss Agnes, your waiting wife. The student slipped a subtle good night and entered the wooden floor, there had never been a ceremony, much less any kind of documentation was signed. Still, Roberta and she exchanged rings studded with beautiful stones, and that was enough. Also different from the first time, Agnes accepted the glass of burgundy this time. She had separated such a special outfit for that occasion, the white cotton dress sliding down her body and embroidered details on the hem, along with the salmon and gray scarf that Roberta had given her the first time they left. Even though she was aware of her appearance, she felt less than the exorbitant amount of expensive pieces sliding around the room. Taking a small look at the environment, she noticed the presence, again surrounded by people, of her companion. The burgundy dress fit like a glove and suddenly, Agnes was struck by how much she would be happy to slide the elegant fabric off her legs later. Discreetly, the young woman made her way to the works, this time knowing exactly how and where each one was taken. She was in each of the places, investigated each of the photographs next to Roberta and even gave her opinion on them, this time the feeling of admiration was not the only one she felt, it was also love. When she stopped in front of one of the black and white works, the air evaporated from her lungs, earlier Roberta had indicated that there would be a surprise, she just didn't know it would be something like that. Tucked between two plaster columns, was a grandiose photograph, roughly framed in dark wood, and right in the center of the photo was Agnes. The girl could not say the exact moment when that photo was taken, she at least was aware of that portrait. Her eyes were on the canvas badly painted on the easel, paintbrush dangling from her fingers, pursed lips and erect torso. The light from the window made his hair lighter, and his skin seemed to sparkle, the photograph included the entire environment, including the mess of paint on the rectangular table. Underneath the photo, there was a small white label with the words: About love, affection and understanding.

"It is a beautiful work, do you intend to bid for it today?" The male voice brought that nostalgic feeling back to her, in the past, she couldn't buy anything. Today, she was aware that that photo would be hers.

"For sure." She replied, smiling at the man.

"I believe this one is already reserved, they are no longer accepting bids on it." He informed, a certain melancholy tone on his tongue and Agnes wanted to laugh. Restraining herself, she finished her drink and finished looking at all the other works, which were already known to her. The young painter was in the last row of pictures when her arm was violently grabbed.

"Where the hell were you? She was practically calling the city guard to get you out of the university." Clara, one of Roberta's prodigious students and personal assistant, spoke to her. Blue hair and yellow smile.

"I ended up letting my phone go, where is she?" She reassured, softly looking around.

"Warehouse." She pointed, taking the empty cup from his hand and returning to her post. It was she who wrote down the bids and indicated the buyers, Agnes had that as her favorite. With only a few steps among attentive observers, the student managed to attract little attention when she crossed the building corridor and entered the door of the private room. Roberta was standing by the small counter with coffee maker and jars of cookies, typing furiously on her phone, but her eyebrows relaxed when she looked at Agnes. Listen, there's this man telling me that I can't bid on that work, the one that has my face on it, do you believe in audacity? Her hair fell against her face from the force of her walk, a false sad smile painting her lips. And quickly, she was in the warm arms of the woman he adored.

"I'm sorry to inform you, my dear. That work has already been sold." Agnes' face fell to the floor, the expectation of having her photograph hanging in the house of strangers did not seem happy. Her companion, aware of her reaction, rubbed the small expression line on her forehead and kissed her chin, jaw and skin next to her ear. "And I am the happy buyer."

"It is not a fair blow, Roberta." The brunette said, hands snaking her waist and lips in search of kisses.

"I don't play fair, my dear." She replied, before capturing her mouth, and even if years passed, Agnes would know, would know each of the soft tones of those soft lips against hers, of the alcoholic flavor nailed to her tongue that slid against hers and the sharp pain of her fingers squeezing your neck. He was demanding, domineering and everything she needed.

That night, amid the sheets bathed in the silver moon, Agnes stared at the new photograph framed on the wall and found that it was something like happiness. The bitter feeling of understanding, understanding and finally, love. I love you, I understand you. She still whispered, even though she knew that her mate lay asleep in her chest, but she didn't worry, she knew that once she was awake, Roberta would also say that she loved her, with her eyes, lips or camera flash. Roberta knew exactly how to say that she loved her, either by leaving her tea and honey on difficult days, or by leaning her bold lips against her earlobe and whispering:

On your knees, my dear.

END


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